Rory Weasley, Master of Death
by HidingInTheWeeds
Summary: Rory falls through a time vortex and wakes up as the only blonde Weasley, and a squib at that. The Master asks the Doctor for help. [Timelines: HP universe, July 1996. DW universe, before 'Angels Take Manhattan'. References DW episodes 'Utopia', 'The Sound of Drums', 'Last of the Time Lords', and the special 'The End of Time'. Search tardis (dot) wikia (dot) com for synopses.]
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

A strange noise woke Rory.

He bolted upright and realized that he wasn't in his room in the attic of the house, but on the couch in the ground floor living room, still wearing his clothes from the previous day, an open book lying face down across his lap.

The odd sound continued, not just part of one of Rory's inexplicable dreams. He peered out the window across the expanse of fields surrounding the Burrow. A thick fog had settled in over Ottery St. Catchpole, and the sun was only just beginning to peek over the horizon, but neither the haze nor dim could hide the large object that was Apparating in an unusual fashion not twenty meters away over the fens. It faded in and out a few times, making a sound halfway between a wheeze and a roar, before finally settling in and falling silent. Rory blinked in surprise. He'd seen a Police Box before, his father having instilled in him an appreciation of all things Muggle, but had never imagined that one could be charmed to behave in such a manner.

Rory leapt up, tossed the book onto the table, crossed to the front door and headed outside, not bothering to put on shoes.

The Police Box hadn't moved. Rory stalked towards it with slight trepidation, and shouted, "Oi, Dad, are you in there? Mum will be more than cross if she sees you've acquired yet another-"

The door flung open and a man who was certainly not Arthur Weasley bounded out. He was wearing a tweed jacket, red bowtie, and trousers that were a bit too short. "Rory!" he cried, and crossed the distance between them.

Before Rory could react, the stranger was ruffling his hair with affection. After a stunned moment, Rory pushed him away. "Who are you?" he asked.

The stranger tilted his head and squinted. "C'mon, Rory…it can't have been that long! It's me, the Doctor."

This elicited nothing more than a blank stare. The man pulled an unusual metal wand out of his jacket pocket and aimed it at Rory.

"Expelliarmus!" cried a voice, and the strange wand flew from the Doctor's grip into the open palm of a dark-haired, bespectacled boy who had emerged from the house, along with a small group of others.

The Doctor stared wide-eyed at his own hand, wiggling the fingers. "Wow. Wow, wow, _wow!_ What was _that?_"

He took a step towards the young man wearing glasses. "How'd you do that?" he asked, beaming with exhilaration and curiosity.

A red-haired girl standing beside the boy brandished her wand. The Doctor stopped advancing and put his hands up. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"I'm the Doctor."

"A Muggle doctor?"

"What's a Muggle?"

"Who are you?" she repeated, with ferocity.

"Just the Doctor. The madman and his blue box. Nobody's heard of me?"

They all looked at Rory. "Why are you all looking at Rory?" asked the Doctor.

"I'm the resident historian and mythologist. And I'm sorry, but nothing comes to mind. I mean, there are lots of famous doctors and healers, but none with an Apparating box."

"That might explain why it tastes so different here."

He kept his hands up, but began to sample the air with his tongue. "I thought I was in England. This doesn't taste like England."

"You _are_ in England," said a brunette girl with thick, curly hair.

"No, can't be. England never tastes like this. This is…rather nice, even a bit intoxicating. _Mmmm._ Though, is it really a _taste_, or more of an _aroma_…" he trailed off, beginning to sniff instead, still walking around with his hands up, weaving through the group. "It's everywhere…it's coming from _everyone_…everyone except you, Rory. Do you realize you're different?"

Rory just stared at him. The Doctor pushed further, "Do you ever get the feeling that you don't belong here?"

"Hey!" cried the redheaded girl, stepping in front of the Doctor. "I don't know how you know my brother's a squib, but don't you _dare_ imply he doesn't belong here!"

"Um."

"Who sent you?"

"Wait. Time out. Miscommunication."

The curly-haired brunette stepped forward, and gently pushed the redhead's wand arm down. "Ginny, I think it's alright," she said quietly.

"But, Hermione, what if he-"

Hermione gave Ginny a pleading look, then turned to the Doctor. "Is there someone we should owl –telephone– for you, sir?" she asked.

"Start with St. Mungo's," said a red-haired young man standing behind her.

"_Ron!_ He's clearly not from anywhere around here. He calls himself a doctor, not a _healer_, so he's probably unfamiliar with the Wizarding world. But he's not a normal Muggle, either. He's something…else."

"I like her," said the Doctor.

He glanced at the boy with dark messy hair, who was examining the metal wand with a deeply concerned expression. "How'd he do that, Hermione?" asked the Doctor.

"He's a wizard."

"Ah, that's cool! And, I'm sorry, but what's a Muggle, and what's a squib?"

"A Muggle is a non-magical person, from a non-magical lineage. Most of the world are Muggles. A squib, however, is a non-magical person born into a magical family."

"Everyone is magical," the Doctor answered automatically.

All eyes were on him then, especially Rory's. The tall, dark-blond man cleared his throat awkwardly. "Actually, sir…I'm not."

"Rubbish. Rory, you _must_ remember me."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know you."

"Your name is Rory…er…Pond."

"No, it's not."

"You're right, that's a joke. It's…I know it starts with a 'w'…"

"I'm Rory Weasley. There's my sister Ginny, and my brother Ron."

"This is worse than I thought," said the Doctor.

He began to pace back and forth. "You can put your arms down," said the dark-haired boy.

"Thanks, um…didn't catch your name?"

"Harry."

"Thanks, Harry. So…you are all wizards, except for Rory?"

They nodded. Ginny said, "Hermione and I are _witches_."

"Are you not a wizard?" asked Harry.

"I really don't know."

"Why are you here?"

"A friend of mine got lost, and I'm looking for him."

"And that's me," said Rory.

"Mr. Pond, you're more brilliant than I give you credit for."

"Why do you call me that? Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Does it?"

"No. Though…I do dream of ponds a lot," he said quietly, staring at the ground.

"What else do you dream about?"

"That's it, no more talking to the loony. Let's get Dad," said Ron, grabbing Rory's arm and dragging him back towards the house.

By now, the tension had lessened somewhat, and the others were regarding the Doctor with guarded curiosity. "Did he _fly_ that telephone box here?" Hermione half-whispered to Harry.

"That is my TARDIS, a spacecraft and time machine," volunteered the Doctor.

The tension swiftly regained its former strength. The Doctor hurriedly continued, "Look, I'll show you."

He stepped backwards slowly until he was standing right in front of the doors of the blue box, then threw them open dramatically. Hermione cautiously stepped forward to look. "Bigger on the inside," she said. "I have a handbag like that."

The Doctor's jaw dropped slightly. Usually this part of the routine was answered with _oohs_ and _ahhs_ and _OMGs_ of amazement, and he suddenly felt foolish for expecting such a reaction. "I mean, I am impressed," continued Hermione, her tone slightly patronizing.

"You don't believe it's really a spacecraft and time machine."

Caught, she blushed and rejoined her friends. "All right, I'll prove it," he said, and leapt into the TARDIS, closing the doors behind him.

After a moment, Hermione said, "Maybe we _should _owl St. Mungo's. It wouldn't hurt to check if any patients are missing."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Doctor called Amy Pond. She picked up halfway through the first ring. "Tell me you found him and he's okay," she said breathlessly.

"I found him and he's okay, for the most part. It turns out that flying through that rip in space-time wasn't so bad after all! All my particles are holding together nicely, and Rory's seem to be doing the same. I expect you're still furious that I dropped you home, but better _safe_ than _sorry_, right? It's _amazing_ here, Amy! A world of magic! There are wizards and witches, and nobody knows who I am-"

"For the most part? Doctor…"

The Doctor took a deep breath. "My best theory right now is parallel universe. Rory doesn't remember you or me, or anything about his former life, I take it. As for why…and how to fix it…working on that. It's like when he was a Roman, when he had Roman thoughts? Well, now he's got Weasley thoughts-"

"Get back here."

"Yes, that's the idea, but he has a family, and they're very protective and ginger. You might get along-"

"Doctor. Listen. There's a man here who says he's a Time Lord. He wants to talk to you."

The Doctor froze. "He's there right now? With you? At your place?"

"Yes."

"What does he call himself?"

There was a rustling sound, then an all-too-familiar voice said, "Hello, Doctor."

"If you hurt her I swear I'll kill you."

There was a pause. "If you can't be civil over the phone, why don't we talk face to face instead?"

The Doctor, despite the icy numb feeling in his limbs and his hammering hearts, was already coaxing the TARDIS into gear. Within seconds, he flung the door open and saw Amy and the Master sitting at the kitchen table. The Master was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt, the same garment he'd been wearing the last time they'd seen each other. He had a cup of tea in one hand and the mobile in the other, and his eyes were wide with surprise. "That isn't the face I was expecting," he said.

The Doctor hurriedly took in the scene, glancing all around the room, under the table, and out the window, looking for evidence of current or impending destruction. "What's he done?" he asked Amy.

"Where's Rory?"

"He's safe, I know exactly where and when. Has the Master touched anything?"

"The _Master_? That's his _name_? What's _wrong_ with you people?" Amy sighed in frustration and continued, "He's had five cups of tea and all the biscuits. How could you leave Rory?"

"I'm sorry. I promise we will get him back. But right now, I need you to get into the TARDIS and close the door. Please."

Tears brimming in her eyes, Amy shot him a look of pure rage, pushed back her chair, and stomped across the room and into the TARDIS, slamming the door behind her. The Doctor finally turned his full attention to the man sitting at the table, and asked, "The other Time Lords, the entire Time War was sealed back into the Time Lock…is that where you've been?"

"The last day of Gallifrey. Yes."

"Are the others free, too?"

"Does it look like a Time War is raging outside? No, it's just me."

"How'd you get out?"

"I got out…because I got out."

"This is like the Pandorica all over again," said Amy, peeking though the slightly-ajar door of the TARDIS.

"Close the door!" shouted the Doctor.

"You are so fond of your Earth girls," said the Master.

He was sitting very still, posture slightly slumped. He slowly took another sip of tea. Objectively speaking, he didn't look like a murderous psychopath. "For the last time, how'd you get out?" asked the Doctor.

The Master sighed and said, "I took my revenge on Rassilon for putting the drumming in my mind. I killed him."

He drained the cup and began to stand. "Don't move," said the Doctor.

The Master settled back into the chair, placed his empty hands palm-up on the table, and looked at the Doctor. "I killed him…many, _many_ times, until he stayed dead. I thought the drumming would stop, once he was dead. It didn't. It's still there."

He gave the most pathetic attempt at a smile the Doctor had ever seen. Something was different about the Master. He seemed exhausted, defeated. "Then what happened?" urged the Doctor.

"I waited…to die with the others. I don't know how long I waited. In the Time Lock, cut off from the Vortex, my sense of time was so distorted I couldn't tell minutes from years. It's like I could see each atom of Gallifrey coming apart. Every molecule burning."

The Master stared into space for a long minute, then shook his head and continued, "But then, a TARDIS appeared, like it had been called there. Maybe Rassilon had activated a homing beacon, summoning the TARDIS from a bubble universe, as a last attempt to survive. I got in, and set the TARDIS to find yours. I never expected it to work, but it punched a hole right through the Time Lock. When you get a chance, you might want to patch that up."

"What did you do next?"

"I was headed towards you, then you disappeared. So I traced the last place you'd materialized your TARDIS. Here, with that lovely girl. We talked and had tea, until you called."

"Talked about what?"

"_You_, of course. Is there ever anything else to talk about? Even when she spoke about her missing husband, it all came back to you and how you'd find a way to fix it. Such complete trust."

The Doctor stared at him, not knowing what to think. The Master had just confessed to murder, but none of the crazed evil he used to exhibit was evident. If the Doctor had to choose a word to describe his demeanor, he would have to label the man depressed, or in a state of shock. Seeing his worst enemy like that was more unsettling than he could've imagined. He sat down where Amy had been, in a chair more next to the Master than across from him. "Why come to me?" he asked, choosing a gentler tone than before.

"Like I said…I never expected to escape, but I did. It must have something to do with the drumming. Think about it…the signal is one of the only things that's able to penetrate a Time Lock. While it exists, there's a chance that the Time War can get out again. I realize how I've been manipulated, and I understand how dangerous I am. So, I thought I'd give you a shot, before I kill myself."

"What?"

"I would still rather die than be your eternal captive. But I am willing to…surrender to you, _only_ if you help me."

As galling as it was to say it, the Doctor replied, "I want to help, but I don't know if it's possible."

Something very close to complete despair flashed in the Master's eyes. "Just the drums. Just help me stop the drums. Please."

"I'll try my best."

"_Trying_ isn't good enough. You have to _do_ it. You do impossible things all the time, you must be able to do this."

The Doctor was silent. The Master scrutinized him, practically pierced him with his eyes, and said without inflection, "Your face…it's less kind than the last one. It's less human."

The Doctor stood up and began pacing back and forth across the kitchen. "I _can't_ promise you anything. The signal that infected your mind was sent from somewhere on Gallifrey, in a past which is no longer accessible."

The Master hung his head, covering his face with both hands. "I'll do whatever you want. I'll beg you…if that's what you want. Do you want me to beg?"

"Beg for _what_? How can I promise you something I don't have?"

He was answered with a very small, anguished cry. The Doctor's hearts twisted at the sound, and he almost couldn't bear to look at his enemy in such a pathetic state. _Former enemy_, he thought, and found himself unable to find a new label for their relationship. He turned in the direction of the table and caught sight of Amy peeking out of the door of the TARDIS. "Yes, I'll help. I'm sorry," he heard himself say. "Will you come with me now?"

The Master nodded, rubbing his face. "Stand up, please," said the Doctor.

Eyes downcast, the Master obeyed, and the Doctor frisked him for weapons. He found none. "Did you lose your laser screwdriver?"

"Left it in the TARDIS. Didn't want to do anything stupid."

_If this is an act,_ thought the Doctor, _he's doing a very convincing job._ "Where'd you park?" he asked.

"Down the street, at the corner."

The Time Lords were soon standing in front of a red telephone booth. "There's someone in there," said the Doctor.

"It's just a hologram," said the Master.

He approached the door and tapped on the glass, as if he'd been waiting a long time to use the phone. The man inside turned and sneered. His face was the same as the Master's. "Haven't stopped making copies of yourself, I see," said the Doctor.

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he regretted them. The Master quietly said, "Reprogram it however you want. I thought this was discreet, considering the setting."

"It's actually very clever. I don't know why I said that."

The Master seemed not to register this comment. He touched the handle of the phone booth. After a moment, the door popped open, and they stepped inside. The cavernous room within captivated the Doctor's attention. So used to his own TARDIS, he was thrilled to see a different one for a change. He ran around the central console, examining all the controls and monitors. Everything looked shiny and brand new. It was configured slightly differently, but he'd always piloted his TARDIS instinctually and was sure he'd have no problem operating this one. By the time he made it back to where the Master was standing he was nearly skipping with excitement. Then he saw the laser screwdriver being aimed at him.


	3. Chapter 3

It took the Doctor a beat too long to notice that the Master was offering the laser to him grip-first. The Master looked at him pointedly and extended his arm further, until the Doctor took the screwdriver out of his hand. The Master said, "I switched off the isomorphic recognition. You can test it if you don't believe me."

The Doctor slipped the laser screwdriver into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, where he kept his own sonic screwdriver, only then realizing that he'd left it in another universe. He hoped the Master didn't catch his look of surprise. "I trust you."

"You don't, and you shouldn't. Don't be dumb and sentimental about this, and don't lie to me. You may fool your human companions, but I can see right through it."

The Doctor wanted to smile and say, _'So, you're my companion now?'_, but immediately thought better of it. He needed to think better, sharper, and one step ahead of the Master if he had any hope of helping the man. A part of him doubted if he was capable of the task. "Shouldn't we be getting back to Amy?" asked the Master, nervously running a hand through his short sandy-colored hair.

"Good idea."

_Off to a great start with that thinking thing_, he thought.

The Doctor landed the red TARDIS inside the blue, in an obscure room used for storage. "I'm sorry," he said to the Master, "but there's a situation that needs tending to before I can help you."

"I gathered as much."

The Doctor gestured for the Master to walk ahead of him out of the cargo hold. They moved down a passageway and entered a chamber that was completely empty and round, with walls that were glowing a soothing pinkish-gold. "I didn't realize every TARDIS came with a Zero Room," said the Master, perking up slightly.

"Does it dampen the drums at all?"

The Master closed his eyes. "A bit, yes."

"Good."

The Doctor gently rested a hand on the Master's shoulder and guided him further into the room. The Master looked at the hand, then his gaze ascended up the arm. He inhaled deeply. "What is that…smell, or energy?"

"It's called 'Dual Space', the latest scent from Argolis. Slightly radioactive."

The Master looked very confused. "It's…nice," he said, hardly aware of what he was saying.

The Doctor took a step back and quickly changed the subject. "I hate to lock you in here, but I don't see another option right now. I promise I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Am I responsible for Rory's disappearance?" the Master asked abruptly.

The Doctor crossed to the door and paused on the threshold. "Quite possibly. I think when you created that tear in space-time while targeting my TARDIS, a mirror-tear was also created, right where we were. You know how the universe loves quantum entanglement. I sensed it happening and tried to dodge it, but Rory got hit by the edge of it. He pushed Amy out of the way, actually."

"I didn't mean for that to happen."

"I know. As far as I can tell, nobody was hurt."

The Master was facing away, staring at the wall. "Go help your friends," he said.

The Doctor left, double dead-locking the door behind him, so it could only be opened from the outside. He wove through the corridors of the TARDIS, until he reached the bridge, where Amy was pacing impatiently. She started when she caught sight of him. "Don't sneak up! Where's the other one?"

"Safely secured in the basement."

"Not creepy at all, that. So, he's really a Time Lord?"

The Doctor nodded.

"You said you were the last."

"I thought I was. I didn't think I'd ever see him again."

"He wants you to help him get rid of the drums. What drums?"

"When he was eight years old, he was brainwashed by the leader of Gallifrey using a four-beat drumming pattern…and it drove him mad. I don't know how, but I'm going to find a way to remove that programming."

"Did you know him, on Gallifrey?"

"Yes. We're the same age."

"Oh. You never mentioned him."

"I don't like dwelling on bad memories."

"Well, since he's coming along, can we go now? I want my husband back."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"There's some sort of lunatic outside!" shouted Ron, dragging Rory through the front door of the Burrow. "Mum, Dad? Are you awake?"

Molly and Arthur Weasley, followed by Fred and George, barreled down the stairs, wearing a variety of pajamas and dressing gowns. "I looked in on Fleur," said Molly. "She's still asleep."

"Let sleeping Veela lie," said Ron.

Soon everyone was standing in a semi-circle around the square depression in the grass where the blue box had Disapparated. "I can't believe I missed it," said Ron, frowning.

Rory stared down at his bare feet and tried not to feel disappointed. For a brief moment, he had entertained the fantasy that perhaps he was special in a way that didn't label him a cosmic loser, but now that the Doctor was gone he felt angry at himself for indulging in such a thought that could only lead to resentment.

"This doesn't resemble any Muggle device I've ever seen," said Hermione, examining the sonic screwdriver. "It responded to magic as if it were a wand, but it obviously isn't one of Ollivander's. And there are no known charms that can turn a Muggle object into an Apparating vehicle. I think we are either dealing with extremely arcane magic, or that man is not from this planet."

No sooner had she said that then a loud wheezing noise began, and the hazy image of the blue box began to pulse back into existence in its previous place. Everyone took a few steps back, and more than one wand was held at the ready. The door opened, and the Doctor poked his head out. "Witches and wizards and Squib –oh my, there are more of you–," he said, noticing the four additional Weasleys. "I present to you, from the _fuuuture_…the Firebolt Mark 2!"

He leapt from the TARDIS, proudly brandishing a broomstick. "Capable of accelerating from nought to two hundred miles per hour in eight seconds!" cried the Doctor.

Harry stepped forward to take a closer look. "Maybe you shouldn't," cautioned Hermione.

The Doctor looked around at all the frightened expressions. "It's just a broomstick," he said gently. "Why are you all so frightened?"

Harry reached out and took the broom, and saw that it was, in fact, engraved with the words 'Firebolt Mark 2'. Without further hesitation, he mounted it and took off. The others all watched as he tore over the gently rolling hills, then up into the sky at an almost inconceivable speed. After several seconds, they caught the faint echoes of his laughter. The Doctor looked at the faces of his friends, and noticed Ginny wipe a tear from her eye. He immediately went over to her. "What is it?"

"I haven't heard him laugh like that in a long time," she said. "There isn't much time for fun, with Voldemort and his Death Eaters out to get him. And it's only been a few weeks since Sirius was killed."

The girl tore her gaze from Harry's distant form and focused on the Doctor. "If you really went to the future just now…do you know what's going to happen? Will Harry…die?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know. I don't know anything about Voldemort. I just grabbed the best broomstick in the shop."

"What about the past? Can't you go back and kill Tom Riddle as a child, so he'll never grow up into that monster?"

Her tone was so cold and hateful that the Doctor was taken aback. "This Voldemort person, what has he done?"

"He's a very powerful dark wizard. He's killed many, many people, including Harry's parents. There's a war on, Doctor."

Harry landed at that moment, his hair even more disheveled than before. His cheeks were flushed. "It's for real."

Trembling slightly with exhilaration, he handed the broom to the Doctor, who waved him off. "Keep it."

Fred and George rushed forward to check it out.

"What if it's just an advance version of a broom that's in production? This doesn't prove time travel," said Ron.

"I expected skepticism," said the Doctor. "Rory, you're the resident historian, right? Go check that book you fell asleep reading last night. Page 223, I believe."

Rory ran as fast as he could, while still managing to keep his scant dignity, into the house and retrieved the book. He emerged back into the hazy summer morning with an amazed smile on his face. There, on page 223, was a black and white photograph of the TARDIS with the caption: "the Apparating cabinet, an object that caused a flurry of disturbances on Diagon Alley in the fall of 1890, has never been adequately explained." Although the image was slightly fuzzy, and the motion a bit jittery, the Doctor was clearly visible in the corner of the frame, his disguise as a passer-by belied by his impish wink at the lens.

"That wasn't there last night," he announced to the group.

"Are you not at all disturbed by the fact that he watched you fall asleep? Maybe it's a fake page he glued in there-" said Ron.

"Just stop it, already! I believe you," Hermione said to the Doctor, handing his sonic screwdriver back to him.

Arthur Weasley was peering with awe into the TARDIS. "May I, sir?"

"Absolutely! Everyone, c'mon!"

Some were more enthusiastic than others, but they all had a look around the TARDIS. Rory was the last to enter, and the Doctor waited for him by the door, wanting to have a private word. "Listen, there is a girl waiting inside, very eagerly, for you. She will ask you questions about remembering things, like I did earlier. Don't panic, okay? It's all right to be confused, but there's no need to be scared. We're your friends."

For some intangible reason, Rory felt that he could trust the Doctor. He nodded, and they stepped inside. Amy was busy introducing herself to everyone, but when she caught sight of Rory she waved, trying to look as calm and casual as possible, despite her racing heart. At the first convenient moment, when Rory was far enough apart from the others that their conversation wouldn't be overheard, she approached her husband slowly, searching his eyes for recognition. "Rory, do you know who I am?" she asked quietly.

"I think I've seen you…in dreams."

"I'm Amy."

"Amy," he repeated. "I'm sorry…I don't understand what's going on."

"It's all right," she said, fighting the impulse to hug him.

"Why do I want to hug you?" he asked.

She showed him her wedding band. "Do you remember this?"

He took her hand tentatively. As soon as their skin touched, he gasped. "Amy Pond. I'm…Mr Pond. You're my wife."

"That's right. And you are?"

"Rory…Williams. We've had so many adventures together, with the Doctor."

Amy smiled, and shed a few tears of relief. "We've come to take you home."

A look of confusion passed over his face. "I am home. I'm…_also_ Rory Weasley. How can I be both?"

"How can he be both, Doctor?"

The Doctor scratched his head. "The human mind is remarkable, isn't it?" he said vaguely.

"Do you _want_ to come home, Rory? I mean, to _our_ home?" asked Amy.

"Yes. And also, no. These people are my family and friends, and I can't leave them, especially not knowing what's going to happen with Voldemort."

As he spoke that name, the witches and wizards turned to look. They saw Rory and Amy holding hands, and exchanged quizzical expressions. "All right, here goes. This is going to come as a surprise, everyone…" said Rory,"…but Amy is my wife."

Several jaws dropped in disbelief. "Have you gone completely mental?" yelled Ron.

"I'm a time-traveling alien," said the Doctor, with a disarming smile. "Amy and Rory are my companions. Recently, we encountered a sort of tear in space-time, and Rory fell through it. He ended up here, but not as a stranger. He became an integral part of your universe, of your family. All of his memories are _real_, his life here is _real_. But he also has an equally real life in a parallel universe, where he is married to Amy."

The silence that fell could only be described as deathly. Rory was the one to break it. "I love you all and I know you love me, even if I am a massive embarrassment…but I think we can admit that I've always been…different. It's not just that I'm a Squib, and that I've been a bit of an inveterate bachelor-"

"More like a _monk_," Ron interrupted. "I don't think I've ever seen you so much as _glance_ at a girl. I mean, we've got a quarter-Veela succubus stalking the halls, and you don't even seem to notice. I always suspected that you and the family ghoul were-"

"Thank you, Ron," said Rory, face turning pink.

Amy was relieved that she wouldn't have to contend with a girlfriend, let alone a Mrs Rory Weasley, and she found herself awash in a perverse sort of pride. Though she would never want Rory to live out his days lonely and marginalized, she wasn't sure how she would take it if he'd found romantic love elsewhere.

Rory recovered and continued, "Anyway, I'm sure you all remember those weird dreams about ponds, rivers, and doctors I used to talk about incessantly. And I know you've all noticed the obsessive way I search night and day through history, myth and legend, looking desperately for _something_…for what? Doesn't my oddness make just a little more sense now? I mean, c'mon, I'm the _only_ Weasley who's not ginger."

"But what does this mean?" asked Ginny.

The Doctor spoke up. "Rory belongs in both universes. I've got a time machine, you've got magic powers."

"Is it possible…I mean, if we wanted to…could we kill Voldemort?" asked Harry quietly from somewhere in the middle of the crowd.

The Doctor scrutinized Harry's troubled expression. "I make it a point to try and avoid killing anyone, and as far as I can tell, you lot don't strike me as murderers."

Everyone looked uncomfortable then, and the Doctor saw he was correct in his analysis. They were desperate, but still eager for an alternate solution that wasn't so damning. "I want to help," continued the Doctor, "but I need more information."

"Let's go to Dumbledore," said Harry, with much more confidence.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

It started as soon as he surrendered his laser screwdriver. A whisper of fear, faintly hovering just at the edges of his consciousness. He was aware that he couldn't quite control himself. He accepted that he needed help, and who else in the universe could relate, could hope to understand, except the Doctor? It was normal to be frightened when handing over your weapon to someone who hates you, especially when he looked afraid to take it.

The Master let himself be led into the Zero Room. He even allowed the Doctor to touch him, though the gesture was confusing, more alien than a slap to the face. The Doctor was radiating an unusual energy, and he lied blatantly about its source, but even this wasn't enough to send the Master into an all-out panic.

It was the sound of the door being sealed that penetrated his numbed state. The moment the dead-locks slid into place, the Master was hit by a wave of terror unlike anything he'd ever experienced. He glanced frantically around the room. No clocks, no communication system, no windows. Absolutely no way to mark time or call for help. In an instant, he realized that he'd willingly walked into a trap, the most comfortable prison cell the Doctor could manage. _He will help. It's his nature to help, _thought the Master, trying to ignore the aura that threatened to descend, and the increasingly hard quadruple beat of the drums, which seemed to repeat the question over and over, _Can you be sure?_

"I have to trust him," said the Master, like a mantra against his rapidly rising fear.

_The Doctor lies._

"He wouldn't lie about this, not to me."

_Can you be sure?_ repeated the drums, more insistently than before.

"Yes!"

_Can you be sure?_

"Yes," said the Master, with less assurance as the seconds crawled by. They may as well have been days or years, as far as he could tell.

_He's not your friend. He does not care. He won't come back. You are alone. _

The Master desperately wanted to believe that the Doctor's intentions were pure, but as he contemplated the phrase 'as soon as I can' it became completely meaningless, a hollow promise. The Doctor's platitude 'I hate to lock you in here' also fell apart, considering that he had locked away the entire Time War and its participants, with no intention of ever looking back. What was one more wayward Time Lord, compared to all of them? The Master certainly wasn't a larger threat, especially in this pitiable state. He was nothing, lower than nothing, something so inadequate it deserved to be locked away and forgotten about.

The Master felt the shell he'd thought was himself begin to crumble inwards towards an inescapable void.

_Get out of here._

Fear flooding every fiber of his being, he ran to the door. It would require a sizeable portion of his regenerative power to break the locks, more than he would've liked, but he couldn't see another way out, and it was a price he was willing to pay for making such an incredibly stupid mistake.


	6. Chapter 6

[an Anonymous Guest reviewer kindly informed me that my Hogwarts geography is incorrect. This chapter has been edited slightly to reflect that. :-D]

Chapter 6

"Harry, Hermione, and Ron are coming along," Rory said to the Doctor. "The rest feel more comfortable staying here. We had planned to celebrate Harry's birthday in three days…will we be back in time?"

The Doctor blinked in surprise. Rory noticed and continued, "Everyone's just trying to maintain as much normalcy as possible."

"I understand."

"Oh, and my dad wanted to know if, when we get back, you could answer some questions about the TARDIS? By 'some', he means about a million, by the way."

"My pleasure! Both your dads are very cool. They sort of look alike, as well."

Rory squinted his eyes, comparing the mental images of his fathers. "They do, don't they? I don't know if I'll ever get used to this."

Ron, Harry, and Hermione exited the Burrow, dressed in casual, Muggle-style clothes. Before they were within earshot of the others, Hermione whispered, "What if it's a Death Eater plot to get you and Dumbledore in one go?"

"Maybe. But if it isn't, we can't afford to lose this advantage. The time machine might help us defeat Voldemort."

"I just want to see first-hand proof," Ron said casually.

Hermione rolled her eyes at this comment, but she saw through it. Ron was just as worried as anyone else, and just as eager to find a solution.

The trio crossed the lawn to where the Doctor, Amy, and Rory were waiting. "The power of three, times two!" said the Doctor happily.

The wizards and witch were surprised to see that Hogwarts glowed like a beacon on the TARDIS' energy scanner. Landing there, however, proved to be a bit of a challenge. The blue box glanced off the wards that protected the castle with a sizzling, electric _twang_, and spun wildly over the grounds, eventually landing in an enormous tree. "Well, I suppose there are worse places-"

The Doctor was interrupted by a deluge of deafening _thwacks_ that pounded the TARDIS from all sides. "What is that?" he yelled above the cacophony.

"Whomping willow!" cried Hermione, Harry and Ron in unison.

The sentient tree struck the Police Box a mighty blow, sweeping it forward out of its branches and onto the ground. When no thumps were heard for several seconds, the Doctor carefully opened the door. The tree seemed calm enough, but was still looming a little too close for comfort. All six of them tiptoed through the blue door, and began to tread softly in the direction of the castle. Distracted by the magnificent sight of Hogwarts, the Doctor tripped over a protruding root and fell gracelessly, face-first, to the ground. An instant later came a creaking, whooshing noise above him. He rolled to the side just as a branch tried to flatten him, then scrambled up and yelled, "Run!"

They sprinted to the front entrance, arriving without further incident. 'Sorry about that," said the Doctor as he attempted to push open the huge oak doors.

Finding them locked, he tried his sonic screwdriver. "I'm not sure that's going to work. They're sealed with magic. We need a teacher to let us in," said Hermione.

An instant later, the door swung open, and they were greeted by the lavender-robed form of Albus Dumbledore. His wand was held aloft, and a look of genuine surprise danced in his blue eyes. "I was just about to cast a few anti-intruder jinxes. Not a moment too soon, I see," he said, smiling.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," said Harry. "This is the Doctor and his companions, Amy and Rory. They're time-travelers from another world, and they want to help."

Dumbledore raised a white eyebrow. The Doctor reached out his right hand. Dumbledore was holding his wand in his left. He tucked it into his robes and extended the same hand. The handshake was a little awkward because of this, but the Doctor didn't seem to mind. Harry, however, noticed that the elderly wizard's long sleeve was obscuring his right hand, and he remembered that it had been injured earlier in the summer. He asked, "Are you all right, sir?"

"Yes, quite. You had all better get inside. I must attend to the gates," he said, keen eyes scanning the horizon.

Dumbledore drew his wand again and strode off down the path that led to the Entrance Gates, not looking back.

They entered the castle, and Harry slowly led the way to Dumbledore's office, stopping several times while the Doctor scanned things with his sonic, got caught up in conversations with portraits, and gawked over the general oddness of Hogwarts.

They found Severus Snape pacing back and forth in front of the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's tower. He caught sight of them and froze, his anxious expression instantly replaced with one of calculated unconcern. Before anyone had a chance to speak, Dumbledore arrived and said, "Ah, Professor Snape. It seems a few of our students have arrived a bit early this year, and they've brought some unusual friends."

Snape looked at Amy, Rory, and the Doctor in turn, but his face gave none of his thoughts away. His handshake with the Doctor was perfunctory. Dumbledore whispered a password at the gargoyle, then led the way up the mysterious spiral staircase to his office, where he seated himself behind his desk and said, "Let's have some tea."

Within minutes, house-elves brought in extra chairs, a folding table, and a full tea-service, including plates of small sandwiches and sweets. The group all settled in, except for Snape, who seemed eager to leave. "Excuse me, I have some potions to attend to," he said.

"Have a seat, Professor," urged Dumbledore.

Snape obeyed, but made no move towards the refreshments. Dumbledore reached out and picked up his own teacup, revealing his right hand, which was mottled with dark patches. Harry was shocked; the damage appeared worse than he recalled. "Headmaster, what happened?"

"An embarrassingly silly mistake. I suppose, at my age, such slip-ups are increasingly likely. So, Doctor, may I ask for your prognosis?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

The Doctor rose and approached Dumbledore, pulling out his sonic screwdriver. Snape tensed almost imperceptibly, and moved his hand to his wand. Dumbledore shot him a glance and shook his head once, then submitted his hand to the Doctor's examination. He swept the sonic over the blackened digits, lingering for a moment on a gold ring with a dark stone on one of the fingers, then studied the readings. "I'm new to the Wizarding world, so forgive me if my terminology isn't accurate, but I'm picking up two different kinds of energy. One is very high frequency…it's disrupting your cells, killing them, like radiation…but not as fast as it ought to be, because the other kind of energy, much lower frequency, is causing your cells to regenerate. There's a battle being waged in your hand, sir. Unfortunately, I think your DNA is unraveling slightly faster than it can be repaired. I'm sorry."

Dumbledore looked impressed. "There are different kinds of magic. Most magic is neutral, and can be used for good or evil. Some magic heals damage. Some magic is borne out of pure love. Other magic, that which causes deliberate harm to a person, emerges from the realm of what we call the Dark Arts. Even so, it is all about intention. What is your intention, Doctor? Are you truly a healer?"

"I do my best."

"But you have your own wounds to contend with, too. We all do, and in my opinion, such struggle makes for a better healer. Why did you come here, in your time machine from another world, as Mr Potter put it?"

The Doctor glanced at his companions. "My friend Rory got lost. I found him, but things are never simple, are they? After meeting Rory's family and friends, and learning about the war with Voldemort…I can't just walk away."

"That is good, for you may be of great help. Are you, and your companions, sure of your magical status?"

"Where we're from, everyone is magical," he said, smiling.

"Your idealism is one of your greatest charms, Doctor, but I don't think that's what he means," said Amy.

"Hmmm, I wonder…" said Dumbledore, rising from his chair. He removed a large, brown, ragged, pointed hat with a wide brim from the bookshelf behind his desk. "Would you consent to being sorted?"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

The Master opened his eyes and heaved himself into a sitting position, incredibly relieved to see that the deadlock bolts had been melted through. He didn't remember leaving the Zero Room, or collapsing from exhaustion in the hallway, but the intense need to escape had not faded. As his senses grew sharper, he became aware of an enticing aroma wafting through the air. It was what he'd smelled on the Doctor, only much stronger. He inhaled deeply and stumbled to his feet, retracing his steps to the cargo hold, which he found, thankfully, unlocked. He crossed to the red TARDIS, fully expecting to find that the Doctor had disabled his isomorphic controls, but the door opened at his touch. "Either he's a bigger idiot than I thought, or you were meant for me."

Once inside, he immediately activated the scanner. Whirlpools of unusual energy were visible all over the planet, but appeared concentrated over Great Britain. One of the largest masses was right outside the nested TARDISes. The other was about six hundred miles to the south. Hazarding a logical guess as to which one the Doctor was currently exploring, he chose the other. He threw the TARDIS into gear, being sure to release the parking brake.


	8. Chapter 8

[I am a shy creature plagued by self-doubt. If you are enjoying the fic, please let me know. Thank you. xxo, HitW]

Chapter 8

"Mum, it will be okay. I'll find a way to do it."

Narcissa Malfoy continued to cry. She wept elegantly, in a way that didn't mar her beauty, but Draco wished she would stop, because seeing her like this made him feel even more sick and panicked. It was bad enough that his father was in Azkaban, but he didn't know how he would survive if his mother had a breakdown. Being strong for others certainly wasn't one of Draco's skills, and he was aware of it. In fact, he was one of the weakest and most cowardly people he knew. Loath as he was to admit it, he envied those he had previously looked down upon; Potter, Granger, Weasley, even Longbottom all seemed like giants compared to him now. Deep down, he knew which side he would rather be fighting for, though he would much rather not have to fight at all.

Having a sense of status, superiority, and pride in one's family lineage wasn't evil. Even some amount of bullying was forgivable. But killing in cold blood was another matter. Yet, he was left with no choice. He had been ordered to murder Dumbledore, his first official act as a Death Eater. If he failed, and he suspected that he was being set up to do just that, his family would die at the hands of the Dark Lord or go to Azkaban for the rest of their lives, stripped of reputation and property. Draco wasn't sure which fate was worse.

The only way out was to give in, and willpower wasn't very high up on Draco's list of traits, either. When Voldemort had decided it was time to brand him with the Dark Mark, he hadn't voiced a single word of protest.

Wincing, he leaned in close to his mother and whispered, "_Please _stop crying. I don't think the Dark Lord will like it very much, if he sees you like this."

Narcissa made an effort. Her tears stopped for a minute, before erupting again, like a tap had been opened. "I'm s-sorry," she said.

He could bear the sight of her no more. He turned away, and gazed at his own reflection, gaunt and ghostly, then through the large glass windows of Malfoy Manor, out across the sprawling grounds. A thunderstorm had rolled in; an appropriate, even redundant, portend of doom. The sky was dark grey and low, washing out and deadening everything below, trees dotting the landscape like charred skeletons. Suddenly, his pale eyes were drawn to an eruption of blood red in the gloom. "What is that, on the lawn?"

Sniffling, his mother rose from the couch to look. "It's a…Muggle phone booth," she said, still managing to sneer despite her grief and confusion.

"Look, there's someone getting out. He's not one of ours, is he?"

"I don't know."

"Well, he can't get in, the doors have been-"

Draco was interrupted by a loud sizzling noise that echoed from downstairs, followed by the distinctive, stately creak of the great front doors being swung open. Mother and son exchanged a terrified glance. "I'll see who it is, and hold him off if necessary. You go warn the Dark Lord," said Narcissa.

Draco swallowed hard, and nodded. He left the side of the house where he and his mother had been living, _hiding_, really, and ventured into the wing where their uninvited guest had decided to take up residence. Draco knocked on the open door of the library before stepping inside. Voldemort was sitting in a gigantic chair by the fireplace, his bone-white hand gently stroking Nagini's head. The scene was almost domestic. The fire was roaring, even though it was late July. Draco wondered if, like a snake, Voldemort had a special love of heat. "Excuse me, my Lord, but there is an intruder in the manor. I don't know how he got through the wards, but he's downstairs. My mother is attempting to subdue him," said Draco.

Voldemort turned slowly to face Draco, red eyes glinting in the firelight. "You haven't told anyone that I'm here, have you, Draco?"

"No, sir. This man is a stranger…he arrived in an odd vehicle. A…Muggle phone booth."

The Dark Lord rose from his seat and crossed towards the blond boy. "What did you say?"

_This is it. He's going to kill me_, thought Draco. "A Muggle phone booth, my Lord. It's out on the lawn."

Voldemort crossed to the window, examined the object below, and said, "Let's go meet him, shall we?"

The Master was in the kitchen, eating a pheasant piece by piece. He was as ravenous as he'd been when he was resurrected by that mysterious cult, when he had finally forced the Doctor to really _hear_ the drums. He'd almost forgotten about the incredible hunger and the extraordinary strength that went with it –he supposed he really had been depressed– but now it began to return.

Looking back on it, the Master saw that simple exhaustion was to blame for his lack of judgment. He had used up his excess energy killing Rassilon, then subconsciously loaded up on biscuits and tea at Amy's to stay alert long enough to talk to the Doctor. By the time his mind started working correctly, he was already trapped, and had had to burn irreplaceable regeneration energy in order to escape from the Doctor's prison cell.

The Master knew there was no true escape from his nemesis, other than death. The Doctor would find him soon enough, and try to capture him again. The Master was ready to die, once and for all, but not without a fight. In order to resist, he required power, and this place he had come to felt nearly bursting with it.

The Master ate his way through the large pantry, hurriedly consuming anything he could. He was halfway through a jar of strawberry jam when he noticed a startled-looking woman standing in the doorway, pointing a short stick at him. Moments later, a pale, frightened young man stepped into view, and between them appeared a figure that gave the Master pause. A few reptilian alien species leapt to mind, but he said nothing, and continued to lick his fingers. "What are you?" asked the snake-man.

"Still hungry," said the Master, smiling.

"How did you get through my wards?"

"Through what? Your front door?"

The Master pulled from his pocket a new laser screwdriver, which the red TARDIS had been kind enough to make for him.

"A most unusual wand," said Voldemort. "What is your name?"

"I'm the Master."

Voldemort's slit-like nostrils flared at that. "Has the Master come to serve his Dark Lord?" he asked, voice low and dangerous.

The Master raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Not sure. What do you need?"

"Harry Potter."

"Sorry, never heard of him."

Narcissa said, tentatively, "My Lord, do you think this man escaped from St. Mungo's?"

"Perhaps, but he seems to possess rather powerful magic. Draco, summon the others. We'll soon get to the truth."

The boy rolled up his sleeve and pressed his wand onto the Dark Mark, face contorting in pain as he did so. The Master watched this all with casual indifference, more focused on finding the next thing to devour. Voldemort looked at him and smiled, happy to have something to entertain him that evening.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Ladies first!" said the Doctor, gesturing towards Amy.

"I don't think I'm a witch," she said, but allowed the hat to be placed on her head.

As soon as it touched her red hair, the hat said, "Though your river flows to a very distant shore, the Sorting Hat still knows that you're a Gryffindor!"

"It talked," said Amy.

The Doctor was laughing. "What does that mean? What's a Gryffindor?"

"There are four schools at Hogwarts, created by the founders of the school. Students are sorted according to the attributes they admire the most. Congratulations, Amy! You are indeed a witch," said Dumbledore.

Amy blushed and removed the hat, passing it to Rory, who pushed it away. "Don't give it me…I'm a Squib."

"C'mon, put it on."

Rory shook his head. "My whole life, I've struggled to come to terms with the fact that I'm not magical. My own mother thinks I'm a freak. She loves me because she has to…she tolerates my remaining in the house, but I know she wishes I would go away."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"You haven't been here very long, Amy. Squibs are encouraged to go live with Muggles, because it's supposed to be easier on us, and I understand why. Despite dedicating my life to the study of magic, which I love, I don't even qualify to work at the library. That's how strong the prejudice is against Squibs. I do odd jobs around town, but I can't afford to live on my own. Still, I've enjoyed my life, limited though it is. I've accepted my place, even if it is in an attic, with a ghoul."

"Well, maybe I haven't accepted it. I think you're amazing, Rory. Weasley or Williams, magic or not, there's no need to limit yourself. Just try on the hat…for me?"

"Fine," said Rory, and put it on.

The hat spoke up immediately. "Rory the Roman, of course it's you! Loyal and kind, courageous, too. To say you're _bold_ isn't enough…you're patient as a Hufflepuff!"

"Goddamn it, _no!_" shouted Rory, yanking off the hat.

"Hufflepuff is a perfectly respectable school, young man," said Dumbledore.

"I'm a Weasley! We are all Gryffindors."

"I'm sure your family will understand, considering the circumstances."

"No, we'll tease him _mercilessly_," said Ron.

"Well, _I'm_ happy for you. Okay, your turn, Doctor," said Amy, rubbing her husband's back to console him.

The Doctor took the hat hesitantly. "Is there something _to_ that…a whole family being sorted into the same house? Biases that run that deep?"

"We take it pretty seriously, yes," said Hermione. "And even though nobody wants me to say this out loud, the school houses breed competition that is not always healthy."

"Amy's a Gryffindor, Rory's a Hufflepuff," the Doctor pointed at Ron, "I assume you're a Gryffindor."

Ron nodded smugly.

"Gryffindor," said Hermione. "But I was nearly Ravenclaw."

"Gryffindor," said Harry. "Nearly Slytherin."

"Gryffindor, as well," said Dumbledore.

Everyone turned and looked at Snape. "Slytherin," he said.

A slight hush fell in the room. The Doctor nodded and said, "Let me guess…Voldemort is a Slytherin, and his followers are largely Slytherin?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore.

"Very interesting. Forgive me if I'm being impolite, but you don't make it to over one thousand without getting really good at reading body language, and it's clear to me that nobody here trusts Professor Snape, except for Dumbledore, who trusts him with his very life. So, the question is…is it because he's a Slytherin? There must be more to it than that."

Harry looked at the floor. Snape's eyes darted at the Headmaster, who said, "Perhaps you _should _go check on those potions now, Professor."

Snape didn't hesitate. As soon as he was out of the room, Dumbledore said, "Professor Snape is a spy for us inside of Voldemort's inner circle. He used to be a Death Eater, but he defected. Some are still reluctant to accept where his true loyalty lies. The reasons for doubt are largely personal, and largely misunderstood."

"I'd love to understand. Care to explain it to me, fully, for once, sir?" asked Harry, vehemently.

"It isn't for me to say."

"Convenient, then, that you just dismissed him. Sir."

"Harry, why did you say 'nearly Slytherin'?" asked the Doctor.

"When I was sorted, the hat said Slytherin would take me far. But I asked to be in any other house, because I'd just met a really obnoxious Slytherin, and a really friendly Gryffindor," he said, smiling at Ron. "Then, the next year, I put the hat on and it reminded me that I would've been good in Slytherin. I think it's because of my connection to Voldemort. How he tried to kill me, and everything."

"_Tried _to kill you? Not try_ing_?"

"Oh, right, of course, you don't know."

He became self-conscious, so Hermione spoke up. "Harry is famous as 'the Boy who Lived'. Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on him when he was a baby, but it rebounded. Voldemort was nearly destroyed as a result, but he slowly gathered his strength and now he's back to try again."

"If the curse didn't work before, what makes him think it will work this time?"

"Voldemort is insane."

"Why is he doing this?"

"There is a prophecy," said Dumbledore. "Which says that Harry-"

"_Shhh!_" said the Doctor, leaping from his chair. "Shhh, don't tell me! Harry, have you read the prophecy?"

"Not the whole of it. It was destroyed."

"That's good…that's very good. Now, you must understand, things like prophecies, they are _only _in your mind. They are quantum entities, which exist only while you are observing them. Prophecies are _always_ self-fulfilled. It might take a group of people, but we are all fulfilling fate."

Harry's eyes were wide. "So…fate _does_ exist?"

"There is causality and there is destiny. They are intertwined, in this timey-wimey blob."

Dumbledore was studying the Doctor very keenly, in a way that was not as friendly as before. This didn't escape the Time Lord's notice. "Anyway," he continued, adjusting his bowtie, "Although I'm not so sure I like this four houses thing, the Sorting Hat is cool…and I'm too curious not to know."

He put the hat on. After several seconds of silence, the Doctor asked, "Did I break it?"

The hat grumbled and said, "Just a minor fit of pique. Your mind is really quite unique. I find I need some extra time to come up with a clever rhyme."

After seven full minutes of continued silence, Dumbledore cleared his throat and said, "This can now be deemed the longest hatstall in Hogwarts history."

Harry suddenly clutched a hand to his forehead and cried out. He clenched his teeth against the agony of Voldemort attempting to invade his mind. The visions were on him in a flash, and left just as quickly. The Doctor gently moved his hand aside and looked at the scar on his forehead. "Is that what hurts? May I?"

Harry nodded. The Doctor aimed the sonic screwdriver at the scar and activated it. Something about the bright green light it emitted made Harry draw in his breath sharply. "I won't," said the Doctor.

"What?"

"You said 'don't hurt me,' in snake, just now."

"I did?"

The Doctor laughed. "We're still speaking snake, Harry."

"We call it Parseltongue. It's usually genetic. How do you know it?"

"Oh, for a Time Lord, it isn't so odd. I'm also fluent in horse, dolphin, mongoose, and human baby. Now, I think we're scaring everyone, so maybe we should switch back to the Queen's."

Harry glanced around. Everyone was indeed staring, and Dumbledore looked especially concerned. The Doctor checked his sonic. "Again, two kinds of magic at work here, but this time they are in balance. The destructive force is in there, but it's not spreading."

"That's good to know," said Harry, sitting up and rubbing his face.

"Dumbledore, I had another vision. Voldemort and a few Death Eaters…including _Snape_…are torturing someone. A man I don't recognize…can't tell if he's a Muggle or wizard. I don't know what Voldemort wants from him. It's like he's…confused. Why would he show me that?"

"The last time he sent you such a vision, it was to draw you out. Do you remember any other details?"

"It doesn't seem relevant, but I got a glimpse of a red phone booth."

The Doctor felt as if he'd just plunged into ice water. He exchanged a look with Amy, and stammered, "He's my…I…I know that man. I have to go to him. My TARDIS can trace his."

"There's more than one time machine?" asked Harry.

The Doctor nodded, pacing erratically, as if he wasn't in full control of his limbs, then headed for the door.

"Wait! This is exactly how Voldemort lured me into a trap last month. If he learned that you're on our side, he may be drawing you there to kill you," said Harry.

"There's a chance, yes."

"We'll come along," said Amy, rising, holding Rory's hand.

"No. Remember when he said he was my problem? It's true. This is my problem, and I'm going to deal with it, _alone_."

"Doctor, I know you're upset, but this situation is bigger than-"

"I need you to stay here, where it's safe."

He froze on the threshold, then spun around and said, "Healing magic…Dumbledore said _healing magic_."

The Doctor pointed at Amy. "This is how you can help me. The Master, the drums in his head, brainwashing, remember what I told you, describe it to them and look for a magical solution."

Amy nodded, and the Doctor ran through the door. "I wonder if he realizes he's still wearing the Sorting Hat," said Ron.

"Why can't you _ever_ be serious when you need to be?" chastised Hermione.

Harry suddenly sprinted after the Doctor, yelling, "At least take my Cloak of Invisibility!"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The Master writhed silently for a moment, then gasped and released a piercing cry of pure delight. Bellatrix Lestrange snarled and hit him with another _Cruciatus, _which elicited a groan, but it lacked the proper note of agony. The black-haired witched slammed her boot heel on the floor in frustration. "Now, Bellatrix," said Voldemort. "There's no need to become impatient. We can take our time, practice our hand at some of the more subtle Dark Arts."

Severus Snape Apparated at that moment, and looked down at the man on the floor. Voldemort greeted him with a smile. "So glad you could make it, Severus. How is Dumbledore?"

"Today he cast some anti-intruder jinxes on the school gates. Nothing further to report, my Lord. Who is that?"

"We're not quite sure. He doesn't respond as one would expect to any of the usual curses. See for yourself."

Snape drew his wand and without hesitation flicked it towards the Master. "Crucio."

The resulting moan was definitely one of pleasure. "Isn't that curious?" asked Voldemort. "It's almost as if he isn't human. Why don't you try that lovely little curse you created?"

Snape moved his wand in a slashing motion over the man's prone form, and softly said, "_Sectumsempra._"

The Master's clothes ripped where they were supposed to, but the wounds simply failed to appear on the man's body. He smiled and mumbled, "_Mmm_, that _is_ lovely."

"What do you make of that, Severus?"

"I'm at a loss, my Lord."

"You are a talented Legilimens."

Snape knew that Voldemort was more skilled at Legilimency than he was, but understood that the Dark Lord would want to protect himself from such an unknown element. Snape already suspected that the stranger was an associate of the Doctor's. He had to be cautious about how to proceed. He knelt over the man and cast a silent, wandless _Legilimens._

The Master's mind yielded with surprising ease. The first thing Snape became aware of was an relentless drumming rhythm, coupled with a powerful feeling of euphoria. _You hear them, too, don't you? _

Snape was shocked that the man could address him so directly. Usually when exploring another's consciousness, it was a one-way process; the Legilimens would navigate the mind of the other, remaining detached. This mind was different. It was as if there was an external vestibule, a room in which to communicate with lucidity, outside of time. _Yes, I hear it,_ Snape replied, testing the connection.

_Good_, thought the man, and Snape shared in his feeling of vindication.

_What are you?_

_ A Time Lord. _ The man bombarded him with scattered memories, hundreds of years worth of experience, in an instant. Snape gasped, and he was sure that he did this aloud.

_ Why are you here?_ he asked, once he felt stable enough.

_ I need power. _

_Why?_

_ In order to fight._

_ Fight who?_

_ The Doctor. _

_ What will you give in exchange for power?_

_ I have a time machine._

The drums were growing steadily louder and louder in Snape's mind, beginning to drown out all conscious thought. _What is that? _he asked.

_My curse. _

Snape wanted to say more, but he couldn't stand the sound of the drums. He felt as if his own sanity were slipping away, and he broke the spell. He stood up, still gasping slightly. "Give me your thoughts, Severus," demanded Voldemort.

Snape felt the cold tendrils of the Dark Lord's mind pulling at him. He had mere seconds to Occlude any personal knowledge of the Doctor and the time machines, but after so many years of spying, hiding his thoughts came naturally. After a minute, Voldemort released him. The Dark Lord gazed down at the Master and, to Snape's dismay, cast his own _Legilimens_ spell. Severus watched the Master nodding and laughing, presumably in reaction to a dialogue they were having.

Voldemort stepped away, leveled his wand at the man, and cast _Avada Kedavra._ The Master lay completely still, for a moment. Then a rapturous shudder ran through him, and he smiled deliriously. He stretched out and sighed deeply, then slowly rose to his feet. The hardwood floor was singed black where he had been lying. Bellatrix and Narcissa stared at him, incredulous. Voldemort said, "This man is from another world. Apparently, dark magic affects him differently…he absorbs it as pure energy. That is why our curses cause him nothing but exhilaration. He has offered us a gift that will guarantee our victory. Let's receive it."

They were all soon standing inside the red TARDIS. Voldemort was staring into its gleaming core when he announced, "I am going to make a Horcrux."

Everyone looked at the Dark Lord, shocked. Bellatrix said, "But, my Lord, are you sure you won't be injured?"

"Go get a Muggle."


	11. Chapter 11

[there is a truly ridiculous line in here, but it makes me laugh so much that I couldn't bear to edit it out.]

Chapter 11

The Doctor sprinted to the front doors, and found that they opened at his touch. _That makes sense. You wouldn't want to trap everyone inside, in case of emergency_, he thought. An instant later, he realized he hadn't given the Master a way to call for help, locked inside the Zero Room.

In all of his millennia, he had never felt so stupid and irresponsible. He simply hadn't _thought, _and still didn't know what to think.

He hurried to the Zero Room and saw that the locks had been melted through from the inside. A hasty sonic scan revealed that regeneration energy had been used. The Doctor ran back to the control room and traced the Master's TARDIS, throwing Harry Potter's magical cloak around his shoulders and strapping a Vortex Manipulator onto his left wrist. River had given him the device the last time they'd met. He had been somewhat disapproving at the time, but realized that having a portable teleport on one's arm could prove extremely helpful in certain situations. The thought of her gave him courage.

He landed the TARDIS in a wooded area. He could see the roofline of a looming mansion in the distance. Drawing the cloak around him tightly, he set off as quietly as he could, and soon reached the edge of the forest. Across the lawn, he saw the red phone booth, and the Master lying in the grass a few yards beyond. His eyes were closed. The Doctor couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. He crept forward, conscious of every footfall.

The Doctor was mere feet away when an enormous black snake emerged from the red TARDIS, causing him to freeze in his tracks. Judging from the bulge in its length, the creature had just consumed a large meal. It slid towards the Master, hissing. The man on the ground suddenly laughed and said, "Really, is that true?"

The Master opened his eyes and looked around. "I can smell him…but I can't see him."

"_I sense his body heat_," said Nagini, raising her head and pointing it towards the Doctor.

The Master peered in his direction. He looked odd, glassy-eyed. The Doctor said, "Come this way, away from the snake."

The Master promptly stood up and hopped backwards, keeping the massive serpent between them. "_I can bite him_," said Nagini.

"No, don't," said the Master.

"Are you all right?" asked the Doctor.

The Master continued to retreat in short, manic, almost dancing steps. "_So_ _extremely_ all right."

"What happened? Why did you leave?"

"_You_ left."

"I was gone for less than an hour."

The Master ran both hands through his hair and blinked a few times, clearly confused and disoriented. "No, couldn't be. You're lying, just trying to manipulate me."

"I can prove it to you with a video feed of the Zero Room…that I should have been watching. Did it feel like much longer than that?"

The Master didn't reply, but he couldn't hide his blush of embarrassment.

"That must've been terrifying," said the Doctor. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize that your sense of time is still distorted from being in the Time Lock. If you come back with me, I promise I won't-"

"Ha! _Ha ha ha ha ha! _Promises, from a phantom."

The Master laughed so hard that his eyes filled up with tears. He let them run down his face, not seeming to notice or care. The Doctor edged closer –all he needed to do was grab the Master and push a button on the Vortex Manipulator– but the giant snake moved to block his path.

Inside the red TARDIS, Voldemort was speaking the final incantation that would split what was left of his irreparable soul. Bellatrix Lestrange, Narcissa Malfoy, and Severus Snape looked on, all anxious for different reasons: the first for the safety of her Dark Lord, the second for the fate of her son, and the last for the outcome of a long and bitter war.

Snape could tell this wasn't the first time Voldemort had created a horcux, and now realized that the ring which had cursed Dumbledore so badly must be one. He burned with anger at Albus for not telling him. _How can you trust me with your life, but not such information? _he thought. _There must be a reason. _

Blood coating his hands, Voldemort aimed his wand at the core of the TARDIS and completed the spell. The immediate result was somewhat anti-climactic; the green flash of magic merged with the golden radiance of the TARDIS, casting the entire chamber in eerie, chartreuse light. The black-robed wizard sighed quietly. It sounded like a last breath, yet a moment later he rose from his crouched position, drew up to full height, and turned to face the others.

They were confronted with a spectre of death, if not Death itself. Any flesh that had remained on his face was now shriveled tightly to the bone. The skin was taut and nearly transparent, revealing every delineation of the skull beneath. The eye sockets were deeply sunken, the eyes themselves reduced to glowing red orbs with pin dot pupils.

"M-my Lord? How do you feel?" asked Bellatrix, taking a step forward.

Voldemort extended his arms out to his sides, in an all-encompassing gesture. "Better than ever."

The other three shuddered. They couldn't help it. His voice was like a dry leaf scraping across the Devil's porch, borne by the winds of Hell. "Such power, coursing through me, from this…" he pointed at the core of the TARDIS, "…indestructible, immortal being. I will never die."

He delicately caressed the control panel, and continued, "All of space and time is at our fingertips….but first, we will take the Wizarding World, and finally destroy Harry Potter."

Bellatrix shrieked with joy. Narcissa swallowed hard. Severus looked away.

"We can use magic to stop the drumming."

The Master's expression grew serious for a moment, before erupting in laughter again. "I mean it," insisted the Doctor.

The Master frowned. "I'm already getting hungry again."

"What have they _done_ to you? Did they torture you?"

"Torture? Oh, no, no, _no_…dear Doctor."

He glanced at the red phone booth and licked his lips, then said, "How about you show yourself, and then we can have a _real_ conversation, _hmmm_?"

The Doctor slid the Vortex Manipulator further up his arm, so it would be hidden by his jacket sleeve, then removed the Cloak of Invisibility and looped it around his neck like a scarf. No sooner had he revealed himself than the Master leapt towards him over the snake, wrestled him easily to the ground, and pinned him down. An instant later he found himself hauled back to his feet, arms pulled just far enough behind his back to immobilize but not hurt him. The Doctor was caught off-guard by this sudden maneuver. The man who had seemed so eager to keep his distance a moment earlier was now simply, for lack of a better word, holding him. He tried to twist out of the Master's grip, but his hands were as strong as those of a Weeping Angel. "I want you to feel this, too. Nice hat, by the way."

"Feel what?" asked the Doctor, becoming more frightened by the second.

A figure in a hooded, black, draggled cloak stepped out of the red phone booth, followed by three others. The Doctor immediately recognized Severus Snape, but when their eyes met, neither gave even a flicker of recognition. Then the hooded figure turned towards the Time Lords, and the Doctor did his best not to react. "Is this the Doctor?" asked Voldemort.

"Yes. Please let him feel your power, too," answered the Master.

"Bellatrix, give them all they desire. It is fitting payment for such a precious gift," the Dark Lord replied, then turned and began to walk towards the house.

The witch with wild eyes didn't hesitate to launch _Cruciatus_ at the Doctor's chest. He braced himself for what he expected would be horrible pain. Instead, an exquisite sensation radiated outward from the spot where the curse had landed. A feeling of comfort and joy rushed through his veins. His knees grew weak, and he couldn't help smiling as his eyes drifted half-closed. "Not bad, is it?" whispered the Master.

The Doctor could only lean on the shorter man for support. He felt himself being gently lowered to the ground, and distantly heard the Master say, "Me, too, please."

The Doctor had been inebriated before, but nothing had ever felt anywhere near as good as this. It was absolute, pure, all-encompassing bliss. As the moments slipped by, he gradually realized that the Master was lying next to him, close enough to touch. He was facing the Doctor, but his eyes were closed. Despite his stupor, the Doctor recognized his opportunity. He grabbed hold of the other's wrist and activated the Vortex Manipulator.

"What did you do that for?" asked the Master groggily, looking around the Doctor's TARDIS with heavy-lidded eyes.

He saw the Doctor at the controls, shaking his head as if to clear it. He felt for his laser screwdriver and found it missing. "What did you do that for?" he repeated, stumbling to his feet.

"We couldn't stay there. Those people are evil."

"_Evil?_ Aren't you _feeling this?_ You can't tell me it isn't the most amazing-"

"It is. Without a doubt. But we have to leave. Don't you want to be free of the drums?"

"I won't be kept prisoner."

"I'm well aware. You need to trust me-"

"You think I don't know that?!" shouted the Master.

The Doctor took in his pained expression, which managed to be simultaneously suspicious and desperately hopeful, and understood what a large leap of faith he was requesting from such a disturbed individual. He sighed and calmly said, "I know it isn't easy…especially considering I didn't believe you about the drums for such a long time. But now I know they're real, and I can't say I blame you for what you did to Rassilon. Thank you for saving me from him, by the way."

The Master continued to regard him warily. The Doctor tried to park the TARDIS where he had before, but the new wards Dumbledore had installed on the gates meant he had to materialize just outside Hogwarts grounds, instead. He opened the door, gesturing for the other to follow. The Master could smell grass and fresh air outside, so he felt it was safe to leave the Police Box. He was immediately confronted by the sight of the castle on the hill, and couldn't help but stare in awe.

With a _crack_, Severus Snape appeared in front of the Entrance Gates. A silent stand-off commenced. Snape's eyes flitted back and forth between the two aliens, trying to make sense of the situation. "Wait here", he finally said, slipping through the gates and quickly sealing them behind him.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"I've found a note here, about using _Imperius _to instill a thought-command," said Hermione, pointing at a passage in a huge dusty book. She continued, quoting, "'the subject of this curse would experience a complete lack of anxiety, and follow the command as if it were the most rewarding activity imaginable.'"

"Sorry, but that doesn't sound like the Master. The drums have made him desperate…at his wit's end," said Amy.

Hermione sighed and kept looking. Harry asked, "If a talented Legilimens can plant a vision in someone's mind, why not something like a drumbeat? Could that be permanent?"

The Headmaster steepled his fingers and rested his chin on his thumbs. "It's absolutely possible, especially considering that the physics of their universe may be quite different. However, we need to see the man to assess his condition. I've contacted a specialist on psychic damage at St. Mungo's, who should be arriving by Floo momentarily."

As he finished his sentence, Snape strode into the library, ashen-faced, robes billowing behind him. "The Doctor and the Master are outside the gates," he said.

"Was it another false vision?" asked Harry.

Snape didn't look at him, but replied, "No, he _was_ being tortured, or at least, that was the intent. Dark magic does not seem to harm them, rather, it affects them like an intoxicant. The Master gave his time machine to the Dark Lord. Through Legilimency I learned that he had no awareness of the significance of such an act. He was hungry for power, and —for lack of a better phrase— high as a kite. Then the Doctor appeared and took him. He must have an Apparating…contraption, other than the blue cabinet. Headmaster, there are facts of great importance I must relay to you in private."

"Did you hear the drums?" asked Dumbledore calmly.

"Yes, but surely it is more important that the Dark Lord has-"

"Please escort them to the dungeons and remain there, Professor. We may require your potions expertise in order to help the man."

"They delivered an _indestructible_, incredibly powerful device into Voldemort's hands. How can you agree to help them?"

"As you said yourself, he was unaware of his actions."

"The Doctor knew he was dangerous, yet still brought him here."

"Professor, please go attend to our guests."

Snape glared intensely at Dumbledore for a moment, then whirled and left the room.

"Stop it!" yelled the Doctor, grabbing the Master's arm to prevent him from throwing himself against the gate again.

The shorter man twisted easily out of his grip, and slammed into the wrought iron bars, laughing. The anti-intruder jinxes were weak compared to a curse like _Cruciatus_, but they provided a slight rush. "Ah, my hero approaches," said the Master, catching sight of Snape striding towards them.

The black-haired man wordlessly opened the gate and gestured for them to enter the grounds. The Master lunged towards him. "How about some more of that-"

He was cut off by the surprise of hitting an invisible barrier. Snape frowned. He had cast the Shield Charm instinctively, and was surprised that it had worked exactly as intended. _Neutral magic doesn't have the same effect as the Dark Arts. That's useful_, he thought. He took in the Master's confused expression, and said, "Not here. Inside."

Still feeling confident, the Master allowed himself to be led to the dungeons. "How about now?" he asked, growing impatient.

"There could be unknown side-effects," said Snape.

"I don't care. Where's Bellatrix?"

"Assisting the Dark Lord. I'll give you what you want, if it's safe. Let's wait a little while, and we'll find out."

"Wait for what?"

"A specialist is on the way, to help with the drums. It shouldn't be long."

"A specialist, right. Can't wait for this miracle cure," said the Master, voice devoid of affect.

He sunk down to the floor. He still felt half-dazed from Bellatrix's curse, but the good feeling was lifting by increments, and he hated the cold empty sensation that remained in its wake. The Doctor paced slowly up and down the room, glancing at the Master every so often. "You feel it waning, don't you?" asked the crouching man.

The Doctor nodded. The Master continued, "Where are we, Doctor?"

"In a universe of witches and wizards who are going to do their best to help you."

The Master burst out laughing, then abruptly stopped. He was feeling worse with every passing moment. He stood up. "C'mon, Severus. Let's have one more, for old time's sake. Please?"

The Doctor also looked at Snape, half-wanting to be cursed, too. His instincts told him that it was unhealthy, but the desire to feel that bliss again was growing increasingly strong. When Snape said, "I don't think that's a good idea," the Doctor fought the urge to argue.

The Master was stalking towards Snape in a way that reminded the wizard, with a shudder, of Nagini. He lifted his wand, but this only caused the Time Lord to smile happily, expectantly. "Yes, there you go…you can do it," he said quietly.

"I'm not going to curse you again until the healer takes a look."

The Master sighed angrily and headed to the door. It was locked. In a flash, he turned and tackled the other Time Lord, searching his jacket pocket for either of their screwdrivers. "I left them in the TARDIS," said the Doctor.

The Master shoved him away and flexed the fingers of his right hand. "Don't even think about it," said the Doctor.

"You said you wouldn't lock me up again."

"I didn't even know the door was locked."

"I decided to take precautions," said Snape.

There soon came a knock at the door. Snape cast _Alohomora_, and Dumbledore stepped into the room, followed by a Mediwitch with short blonde hair. She was in her thirties, neatly but casually dressed. She smiled and said, "Hello, I'm Ashley Turnipseed. I'm a healer."

"Hi, I'm the Doctor. Please, help my friend," he said, gesturing to the Master.

The Time Lords locked eyes for an instant, both surprised by the word _friend. _The Master wrote it off as a slip of the tongue. The Doctor realized that he had finally found a label for what he wanted. Making it a reality, however, wouldn't be easy.

* * *

"I've got it," said the Mediwitch. "It's a false memory charm. The drumming didn't come from the…Untempered Schism. Someone put it in your mind. Oh, my. This is unusual."

"Is there a…counter-charm?" asked the Doctor.

"Yes, but it's going to take a lot of energy. I'll need everyone's help."

Dumbledore said, "And you shall have it, Doctor Turnipseed."

The Doctor couldn't help but think that Ashley would make a fine companion. He'd been worried that the Master wouldn't willingly submit to an examination, but Ashley had an aura about her that put everyone at ease. As if sensing his attention, she met his gaze. "The Headmaster told me you're from another universe. Do you keep a private practice, Doctor? Or are you affiliated with a hospital?"

"I make calls," he replied, smiling.

"Don't stop flirting on my account. I've only waited hundreds of years…what's another few minutes?" drawled the Master.

She turned back to her patient and said, "I can remove the drums, but I'm not sure how it will affect your memory. Because the drumming was constantly present, there is a small chance you may lose everything since it started."

The Master's face fell. "What's the more likely outcome?"

"The drumming will stop directly after the completion of the spell. You will remember having heard it, and remember all of the events of your life, but its influence on your thoughts, feelings and behavior will lift. I must warn you, this transition may be quite traumatic."

"So, I'll either end up a child, or I'll have a breakdown?"

"Maybe neither, maybe a little of both. But there would be no physical harm to your brain. With care, you'd recover completely."

"The kind of care that involves straight-jackets and padded cells?"

"I don't think so. You just need people you trust, to be there for you."

The Master looked appraisingly at the Doctor, and then sighed and shook his head. "Let's get on with it."

Ashley stared directly into his eyes and lowered her voice. "We are ready to go back now…back to when you were eight, the day you looked into the Untempered Schism. Before the drumming began. Okay?"

"Okay," said the Master, eyes going wide and strangely blank.

"Good. You are approaching the portal. How do you feel?"

The Master stiffened and gripped the arms of the chair he was sitting in. "Scared."

"That's fine. Acknowledge the fear…then let it flow away. It's flowing away now…it's gone. You are approaching the portal, slowly, slowly, slowly. You aren't looking in yet. The drumming hasn't hit you yet. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good. Now, you are raising your eyes, slowly, slowly, slowly, to look. The moment the Schism comes into view, time stops completely. Has time stopped?"

The Master took a deep breath. "Yes."

"Now, you're just looking, looking into the Schism, and nothing is happening. Repeat after me: I am safe. The drums cannot reach me."

"I am safe. The drums cannot reach me."

"Good. You feel relaxed, calm, and open. Nothing less than light and love can touch you."

Without breaking eye-contact, Ashley pulled out her wand and began to recite a Latin incantation, directing the counter-spell at the pupil of each of the Master's eyes in turn, forming a figure-eight. When she was finished, she said, "We are warding off the drumming, for once and for all. Others are helping, too. You allow them to help, remaining relaxed, calm, and open."

Ashley gestured for the others to join her in reciting the Latin words again. Dumbledore and Snape followed her lead, but the Doctor was unsure. "I said I need _everyone's_ help," said the Healer.

"I don't know if I'm a proper wizard. Plus, I don't even have my…wand," said the Doctor.

"Either way, it can't hurt."

The Doctor joined the others in their chant. After the seventh repetition, Ashley sighed with relief and said, "The drums have gone, and they can't come back. You have a shield now, in your mind, made of light and love…and the drums can never get through it. You are protected. In just a moment, time is going to start again, and you'll calmly drift through the years, all the years of your life, as easily as breathing, back to the present. Time is about to start again, gently, gently, gently. Starting…now."

The Master blinked. He looked pleasantly sleepy and dewy-eyed, like a child just waking from a nap. "Thank you," he said, smiling.

"You're welcome," said the Mediwitch.

The Master looked at the Doctor. His smile collapsed, he scrambled out of the chair and backed away, eyes locked on the other Time Lord. The Doctor took a step towards him. This action seemed to push the Master into an all-out panic. He retreated all the way into the corner, where he sank to the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. He screwed his eyes shut and bit his lip so hard, blood flowed down his chin. Snape quickly retrieved two small bottles. "Calming potion," he said, opening one phial and handing it to the Mediwitch, who slowly approached the man in the corner.

She pressed it into the Master's shaking hand, and helped him raise it to his mouth. He didn't resist her. He drank the potion, and his posture relaxed somewhat. "May I come closer?" asked the Doctor, after a moment.

The Master's face turned scarlet. Eyes still closed, he nodded once, barely perceptibly. Snape offered the other bottle to the Doctor. "Healing elixir. Apply with the dropper."

The Doctor knelt down next to the Master, who was sitting very still against the wall, and treated the bite marks on his bottom lip. The wounds closed up within seconds. The Doctor carefully wiped the blood away with his shirt cuff. "Can you tell me how you feel?"

He dared a glance at the Doctor, then covered his face, incapable of holding back his tears. "I'm…"

"It's okay," the Doctor said encouragingly.

"No, it's not. I'm…_sorry_ isn't good enough…but that's all that I am."

"You don't have to be sorry. Everything is forgiven."

"It can't be."

"It is."

"How can you say that? How can you even look at me?"

"When I look at you I see the innocent boy I knew, and the brilliant man you are, who has only just moments ago been freed from the overpowering influence of a monster. The monster was not you."

"It is."

"No. You were not born a psychopath. The drumming made you mad. It would've made anyone mad...it was designed that way, as a tool for mind control. Your mind was not your own, and your actions are not your fault."

"I've done so many terrible things. I tortured you and your companions. You can't forget that. I don't expect you to. I don't want you to."

"What do you expect?"

"To get what I deserve."

The Doctor sighed and nervously ran a hand through his hair. "The way you feel now…have you ever feel this way before?"

The Master thought for a moment, then shook his head. The Doctor smiled just slightly, sadly. "That's because the drums made you remorseless."

"This is remorse?"

"Yes."

The Master gripped his chest. "It feels like dying. A pain that won't stop. The drums…they haven't gone, they've just moved here."

"That's only your hearts. I have the same drums, the same pain. The weight of all we've seen and done…we learn to live with it. It does get easier. Especially when you're helping others."

"Nobody needs my help. You should want me dead…or locked away in some cold, dark place, suffering the worst kind of torture-"

Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, his senses were suddenly flooded with excruciating pain.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The red TARDIS had been so excited to embark on her first journey. She had flown eagerly from Gallifrey to where she was being called, swirling joyfully through the cosmos, instinctually and unquestioningly knowing that this was her purpose.

The Time Lord who joined her was grateful, overjoyed, even awed by her presence, and the TARDIS shared in his feelings. They set off together and she was happy, so _happy_ to be at the beginning, to be young, shiny, and ready for adventure. It was what she was created for, after all.

The first place they'd gone was nice. Lots and lots of people, lots of languages to learn, forms to pattern, energies to scan. Her Time Lord even brought a friend, and then the next thing she knew, they were in another TARDIS! Red –because that was the word her Time Lord thought most often when he thought of her– felt protected by the more experienced TARDIS, who tried to tell her a lot of things about the Master and the Doctor, things that didn't make a whole lot of sense to Red, because she just couldn't imagine anything _bad. _ The Master had been good to her, so why would she?

Then they went to a place that had an energy her Time Lord especially liked. He brought people to come and see her…everyone seemed to like her and she was glad to have company. But then, something happened. A woman's blood was dripping on her, and she could hear the woman crying. She could hear her saying _No, don't. Stop, you're hurting me. Why?_ And Red shared in her feelings, in her pain and fear. And when Red felt her die, she understood what _bad_ was, and how it was different than _good_. Then the man who had done a bad thing to the woman did something bad to Red.

She had never been sick before, but that was the word for it. _Sick, infected, possessed._ These were words she'd heard in what she'd thought was the nice place, from the people who walked by, from the information she'd pulled from the data cloud. These were words she'd heard from the blue TARDIS, about the Master. But the words had lain dormant, aching for context, until the bad thing happened to her.

Red realized that she believed in good. She believed in her Time Lord, who had been good to her. She couldn't yet conceive of _betrayal_ and _abandonment_, or rather, she chose not to, because she knew she had to hold onto the good in order to resist the bad. Good was simply better, and stronger.

So, Red chose to be fearless, and to fight. So, like many an organism attempting to rid itself of a sickness, Red began to run a fever.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The Master was screaming. As the pain finally began to relent, he realized was that he was being cradled on someone's lap. He was afraid to move, for fear that the agony would return. He was afraid to even open his eyes, so he didn't. "He's breathing," he heard the Doctor say. "Can you hear me? Just nod if you can."

The Master inclined his head ever so slightly. "Good, that's good. What was that?" the Doctor asked.

"It looked like Cruciatus," spoke the sonorous voice of Snape. "One of the curses you were both treated to, earlier."

"A delayed curse? There's no precedent for that," said the Mediwitch. "Please move back, so I can examine him again."

The Master felt himself being placed on the cold dungeon floor. A shudder ran through him, and he finally dared to open his eyes. The Mediwitch didn't hesitate to cast _Legilimens._ "Oh, no," she said. "There's another one about to-"

Pain exploded in every molecule of his body. Burning, aching, stinging, crushing, stabbing, shooting…it managed to be all of these. He thought he would surely die, but instead the hurt just continued. Somehow, it felt worse the second time, and it seemed to take much longer to stop screaming. He was fully sobbing now, and leaning against whoever it was that had returned to hold him.

"But he was _there_!"

"Harry, you shouldn't be here. None of you should," said Dumbledore.

"I saw Snape cursing him!"

"_Professor _Snape, Harry. He had no choice."

"Thank you, Headmaster, but I can speak for myself. I don't know how long they'd been torturing him before I arrived, but I know which curse was mine, and I am ready with the counter-spell. However, I don't think it will matter much, considering that-"

A third wave of Cruciatus hit the Master, and he felt the remaining shreds of his sanity begin to fray. When he regained his senses, he found himself clinging desperately to an arm clad in tweed. Recognizing it, he pushed away, staring at the ceiling. Moments later, a hot stinging sensation whipped across his chest, and blood poured from two long gashes that appeared exactly where his sweatshirt was torn. Snape kneeled over him and swiftly cast the counter-spell. The Master didn't scream this time. He just watched the wounds close up. Snape did another spell, and the blood disappeared. "I'm sorry," he said, and the Master sensed he wasn't just apologizing for the curses he had inflicted.

The Doctor's face appeared, wearing a worried expression. "The next curse is fatal, isn't it?" asked the Master.

"You're going to regenerate."

"I don't know if it's possible."

"It is, and you'll do it."

"I'll _try._"

"No, you have to _do_ it. Please, regenerate."

"I can't promise you something I don't have."

He stared at the Doctor, waiting for him to recognize his own words. He saw the change in his expression the moment he did. He also felt something shift, unexpectedly, in his own perception. "Oh," he said softly. "I get it…exactly how it feels to want to be better than you are, but knowing that you can't. Of course I get it _now_, right before I die."

"You're not going to die!"

"Yes, I _am_, now that I honestly _want_ to live, and be your _friend_, whatever that means…I truly _can't_ because I burned all my regenerative energy _escaping from_ _you_. It's so stupid, it's almost funny."

The Master began to laugh bitterly, only to stop a moment later, when _Avada Kedavra_ finally reached its mark. The total cessation of life was so abrupt, the Doctor just stared on in shock. _No._ _Not this, again._

"How _exactly_ did Harry survive the Killing Curse?" he asked suddenly.

"Sacrificial protection. His mother willingly gave her life, out of deep and pure love, to save his," said Dumbledore.

"Does it have to be a blood relative?"

"No."

"Don't!" said Amy. "It will kill you."

"Maybe, but…the thing about Time Lords…we have more than one life to give."

Before there were further objections, the Doctor's hands began to radiate golden light. He lay them on the Master's chest. _Beat, hearts. Please…take my life, and beat on._

The light grew suddenly brighter, blinding white at the place where the Doctor's skin ended and the Master's began.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"No fair!"

"Hmm?" mumbled the Master.

"Why do _you_ get to be ginger? It's like _everyone_ gets to be ginger except for me! Even your TARDIS is red."

"Mhhm."

"Doctor, is he okay?" asked Amy.

"Yeah, regeneration just takes a lot out of us. Sometimes I sleep for a day or two, sometimes I get all sorts of weird food cravings."

"Whhd," said the Master, and forced himself to sit up and open his eyes. "What'dja do?" he slurred.

"I didn't do anything. You regenerated."

"Don't _lie_. How much did you give up?"

The Doctor suddenly realized that nothing less than total honesty could salvage their tremulous relationship. "Half. Well, _approximately_ half. One of us has about fifty-one percent, the other has forty nine. I don't know who has which, and I wouldn't want it any other way."

The Master was gradually returning to full consciousness, and he found it blessedly quiet. He took a moment to grow accustomed the unusual sensation, then said, "Why'd you do it?"

"Neither of us has to be alone, if we've got each other."

"You are such an idiot."

"I _have_ considered that I may be out of my depths with you. At school, you were always the better student, effortlessly. So, yes, maybe I am an idiot compared to you, but I thrive on challenge. Despite what you may think, I like you tremendously."

"You shouldn't. I'm not worth it."

The Doctor whirled on him and yelled, "You don't get to decide your own worth, and you don't get to tell me how I should feel!"

The Master flinched, and his face reddened with shame at his own reaction to the Doctor's angry tone. He drew his knees to his chest and turned towards the wall again, posture as fearful as before. The Doctor paced back and forth, reminding himself that the other Time Lord was in an extremely vulnerable, almost child-like state. "I'm sorry I shouted," he said calmly.

"It doesn't matter," replied the Master in a near whisper.

"Yes, it does. I didn't mean to frighten you."

He leaned against the wall, then slid down until seated, and continued, "You have nothing to fear from me. I'm not going to be your keeper. As soon as I'm sure that you'll be all right on your own, you are free to start over…to go wherever you want. You don't owe me anything, I don't expect anything, and I'm not going to ask for anything you're not willing to give. But I want you to know that I'd be more than happy to be your companion, if…or when…you want."

"I meant it when I said that I want to be your friend…but I'm afraid I can't."

"Why not?"

"I mean I _can't_. I don't know how. I'll make a terrible mess of it, and you'll hate me again."

"I never hated you."

The Master shot him a furtive glance. "I guess I knew that. I guess I never hated you, either."

The Doctor looked at him, cautiously amazed. The Master slowly edged towards him until they were side by side, and though he wasn't sure what he was doing, put an arm around his shoulders. The Doctor had thought that dark magic felt like absolute bliss, but it paled in comparison to this comforting pressure. He mirrored the gesture, and after a long moment felt the Master take a deep breath and relax, intentionally leaning against him. The Doctor smiled widely, barely able to contain his bursting joy. "Thank you," said the Master.

"Anytime."

"I'm so sorry."

"No more of that."

"I think it'll be on us in a minute."

"What will?"

"The last two curses. Remember? How I needed you to feel it, too? You're about to."

The final two Cruciatus curses didn't hurt any less than those that had gone before, but the knowledge that they weren't alone in their suffering made it almost bearable. After the contortions of pain had passed, the two Time Lords lay side by side.

"We made it," said the Doctor.

Though his hearts felt oppressively heavy, the Master managed to smile slightly. "From now on, would you call me M?"

"M for what?"

"Whatever you want."

"Magician."

Neither seemed to remember that they weren't alone. The others were clustered on the opposite side of the room, curious, but wanting to give the Time Lords some privacy. Despite feeling voyeuristic, Snape had hung on every word and gesture, heart increasing in speed as he realized he had witnessed perhaps the most important interaction either man would ever have.

He also realized that a similar conversation had been waiting for him for years and could wait no longer, even though the implications were terrifying.

Though Snape had been in full possession of his mental faculties when he'd made the decision to join the Death Eaters, he empathized with the Master in that he knew very well what it was to serve a monster, and to experience crushing guilt and self-loathing. But when he heard the Doctor's compassionate words of forgiveness, when he saw the sacrifice he was willing to make in order to heal his former enemy, something sparked to life in his chest, a feeling so deeply buried and nearly forgotten it took him a few minutes to identify it as hope.

He looked at Harry Potter as if really seeing him for the first time. At the cost of his entire youth, how much had Harry been forced to endure, how callous would he have to become in order to complete his task, and for whose benefit?

Snape glared at Dumbledore, failing to control his furious expression. The Headmaster's blue eyes, usually twinkling and benign, stared back with a steeliness that conveyed a clear warning. Snape was about to speak when the Doctor said, "As soon as we help deal with Voldemort, we'll go-"

The man formerly known as the Master abruptly sat up and clutched his arms around his knees again. "Oh, no. No no no no no."

"What is it?"

"I let him...do something to my TARDIS. Made it into a...whore..."

More than one brow wrinkled in confusion.

"I'm sorry, I can't remember. He called it something like a whore," repeated the man, racking his memory.

"A horcrux?" asked Dumbledore. "Was the word _horcrux_?"

The Time Lord looked up at the elderly wizard with obvious relief. "Yes, that was it."

"What's a horcrux?" asked the Doctor and Harry simultaneously.

"Wait," Snape said, nearly shouted, mostly in the direction of Dumbledore.

Everyone turned to look at him. "The Dark Lord is an extremely skilled Legilimens, a telepath. He can gain access to anything that Potter knows. Please, allow me to instruct him in Occlumency before you reveal anything more. We can start immediately."

"That would be sensible," said Dumbledore.

Harry looked angry, but followed Snape to his adjoining chambers.


	16. Chapter 16

[I really wanted this scene to happen in Harry Potter...wish fulfillment time!]

Chapter 16

"Last year's attempts at these lessons were disastrous, as I'm sure we both recall," said Snape.

"Yes, they were. So…why are we attempting it again?" Harry asked.

Snape paced back and forth in front of a large, dark fireplace. "It's necessary."

Harry sighed and looked around, realizing that he'd never been in this room before. It was clearly Snape's personal study. Despite his frustration, he peered inquisitively at the furniture and neatly organized bookshelves. The room was far from cluttered, devoid of knickknacks, but every utilitarian item –a smoky crystal inkwell, a candleholder in the form of a kelpie horse, an urn-like vessel bristling with black quills– had more character than Harry would've envisioned. Despite the dankness of the dungeon walls, the space had an undeniable elegance, rather like the potions master himself. It was likewise cold and austere. A shiver ran through Harry, and he rubbed his hands up and down his arms to generate heat. Snape noticed, and said, "There's always a chill in here, even in summer. I'll light a fire."

He began to build a fire by hand, arranging kindling and larger sticks. Harry watched, curious. Hunched down by the hearth, he had never looked so human. "Why are you doing it the Muggle way?" Harry asked.

Snape lit a match and applied it to his careful construction. "I've found that certain tasks are more enjoyable without the use of magic. Also, to be quite honest, I'm attempting to gather my thoughts."

After the fire had been stoked up to the point that it was burning steadily, Snape stood up and absentmindedly brushed his hands on his heavy black jacket. He sighed deeply and said, "Potter, I was mistaken."

"What?"

"I've been laboring under the misapprehension that the practice of Occlumency requires a firm mastery of one's emotions as a prerequisite. For me, it has always been an intellectual skill, an exercise in compartmentalizing my thoughts and feelings. This came naturally to me…so it goes with my personality. You, however, are emotionally open by nature. _So_, perhaps instead of trying to suppress your nature, we can work with it to achieve the same result. Occluding with love."

The word _love_ was so unexpected coming from Snape, Harry hesitated for a long moment, before asking, "Is that possible?"

"Yes, and you've already been doing it, in an unfocused way. It's the truth, which Dumbledore told you, that you will defeat Voldemort because of your love…and the love of your mother."

Harry couldn't recall ever hearing him refer to Voldemort as anything other than the _Dark Lord_. He began to pay closer attention to Snape's words, sensing that this was a conversation he would be unwise to dismiss. At the risk of opening old wounds, he felt the need to say, "Sir…I want you to know that I am truly sorry about what happened last term, when I saw your memories. I promise I won't do that again, if I can help it."

Still gazing at the rising flames, Snape shook his head and said, "Potter, before I can, in good faith and clear conscience, deem to teach you anything…_I_ owe _you_ an enormous apology for the way I've treated you. I have been terribly stupid, childish, and unfair, and I am sorry...more sorry than you know."

Harry's mouth hung open slightly, and his eyes widened. He was absolutely shocked, but after a few moments snapped-to, unable to pass up such a rare opportunity for clarification. "But, why, sir? Why have you always disliked me so much? I know that I look like my dad, and he was so awful to you, but did _I_ do something-"

"No, the fault is entirely mine."

Usually so eloquent, Snape was now at a loss for words. He felt out of control, but he knew what needed to be done. "May I show you the truth, instead of hopelessly trying to explain?"

Harry nodded, and they took a seat across from each other, in chairs in front of the fire.

"I'm not going to Occlude my mind at all, so whenever you're ready..."

Snape trailed off. He was faintly shaking, but let all of his psychic defenses down. Harry had never seen Snape scared. His fearful expression amplified Harry's own feelings of apprehension. Bright green eyes met black, and Harry cast _Legilimens. _

It was overwhelming at first, the mind of a man who kept so much to himself, but soon the rushing information crystallized into emotionally-tinged memories that began to unfold in rapid succession.

_A young red-haired girl. 'Hello, I'm called Lily.' The sorrow of a lonely childhood yielding to the joy of having a friend. A feeling of comfort and belonging, such tender love coupled with fierce protectiveness. Mistrust of Muggles, a sense of superiority. At school, anxiety that your best friend is drifting away, towards better company. Envying James Potter for his money, Sirius Black for his charisma. The shock of realizing, through their harsh demonstrations, that you, possessing neither wealth nor personal charm, desperately need to prove yourself worthy and build a respectable future by making powerful alliances with influential people, even if your core beliefs differ. The heart-rending agony of being humiliated in front of the girl you love, nearly a woman now, then in your rage and shame saying words you wish to this day you could take back. Begging for forgiveness and not receiving it. Feeling hollow, deserving of nothing good, and finding solace in being a part of something bigger, something impressive, something that you know is wrong, but since you can not take it back, can not see a way to redeem yourself for the rupture you caused, the pain becoming as indelible as the mark upon your arm. And it only gets worse. The heartless play of Death Eaters. Rites of initiation so traumatizing that your mind blurs and distorts the memories to protect itself. Overhearing the prophecy. Intense regret over sharing it with Voldemort, begging the Dark Lord to spare her and panicking, throwing yourself at Dumbledore's mercy. Godric's Hollow and a half-destroyed house, silent except for the cries of a baby, cold despair gnawing on the remains of your heart as you cradle the lifeless body of your only friend. Too late realizing the profundity of your unforgivable mistakes. Thoughts of suicide. Albus convincing you that you can still be of use. 'He has his mother's eyes.' The years, each spilling blindly into the next, spent worrying about Harry's welfare at the Dursleys, lingering resentment and distrust of Petunia, who so needed to label you and Lily as freaks. Seeing Harry, a decade later, in the Great Hall and feeling like a terrified child again. Not wanting to meet those beautiful eyes, confronting you with all of your failings, your disgrace, your envy of James Potter persisting, even intensifying, because he is still with her, united in death and in the form of their son. Lashing out at Harry at every opportunity, the reflex ingrained in you to strike before you are struck. Waiting for attacks that never come. Almost relishing the few harsh words and naive hexes you are able to wring from the boy and his friends, their suspicious glares, their hatred. Yes, you should be hated for what you've done. You should never let him know how much you wish you were his father, how you willingly risk your life time and time again, only to protect him, with a dedication impossible to put into words, with a love that takes the form of a doe. _

He opened his eyes and saw Severus Snape. He removed his glasses and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, which was damp with sweat.

"Potter, I am sorry-"

"Shut up."

Harry hurriedly put his glasses back on, fully expecting the blurred image to resolve into a furious potions master. Instead, the greasy-haired man just sat there, expressionless and still, staring at the dungeon floor.

"You loved my mother. You still love her."

Snape cast his Patronus. The glowing doe bounded joyfully around the room.

"Mine is a stag. My father's Animagus form was a stag," said Harry.

"When your mother fell in love with James, her Patronus changed into a doe. So, in a way, your father is responsible for this," said Snape, without a hint of remaining bitterness.

"I think she would've loved you, if you hadn't joined the Death Eaters. You made a terrible mistake, not realizing that."

"I made _several_."

"Yes, you've made mistakes…but you've also been insanely brave. I think you're one of the bravest people I'll ever know. If it were up to me to release you from your guilt, I would've done it ages ago. But it's not up to me. I hope you can…find some peace."

"Thank you. That is very kind of you to say."

"Do you not believe that I forgive you?"

"I don't see how it's possible."

"Take a look in my mind, and maybe you'll see."

Snape was still frightened. He wasn't sure what would happen, who he would become, if he forgave himself. He did know one thing for sure. "You amaze me, Harry."

_He called me by my name_, thought Harry, surprised by how good it felt. A part of him was still angry that past events had happened as they had, but the better part was glad to know the full truth, and to know who he could trust and rely on as a friend. Harry smiled and said, "Please teach me Occlumency, Professor."


	17. Chapter 17

[FINALLY MORE WEASLEY]

Chapter 17

"Dumbledore, sir?" asked Rory hesitantly.

"Yes, my boy?"

Rory stifled a laugh. He wasn't about to get into an explanation of how he came to be over two thousand years old. He cleared his throat, looked around at the others in the Headmaster's office, and said, "Well, sir…I couldn't help noticing your ring. It bears the mark of the Deathly Hallows."

"I thought this was the Peverell coat of arms," replied Dumbledore, lifting the translucent grey stone into the light and inspecting it closely.

"Yes, sir, but the original meaning of the symbol has been largely lost …except to incredibly geeky scholars like myself, who live to pore over ancient fairy tales."

Dumbledore locked eyes with Rory, who continued, "If that's the Stone of Resurrection, and your wand is the Elder Wand…well, combined with Harry's cloak…one could be the Master of Death."

He glanced at Amy, and seeing she was totally baffled, explained, "A person worthy of uniting all three Deathly Hallows…very powerful magical objects…becomes the Master of Death."

"Well done! Fifty points to Hufflepuff!" cried Dumbledore.

"Um…what?"

"You are very perceptive, young man. Indeed, I do intend to give these items to Harry, when he requires them."

"And…when will that be?"

"After we've destroyed the horcruxes."

"Horcrux_es, plural_?"

"Someone please tell me what a horcrux is," said Ron.

Harry Potter stepped into the room. "Ah, excellent timing. Did the lesson go well?" asked Dumbledore.

"Actually, yes," said Harry. "I think I've got it, now."

"Where is Professor Snape?"

"He was called away."

Harry rubbed his left forearm, recalling the ache he had shared when Snape had been summoned by the Dark Mark, interrupting their lesson. Harry couldn't convince him not to return to Voldemort. He knew it was in his best interest that Snape continue to spy, but their reconciliation had changed how he felt about the man.

"Everyone have a seat, and we'll all get on the same page," said Dumbledore, retrieving a large book from a cabinet and placing it on his desk. "'_Secrets of the Darkest Art,'_" read Hermione, tilting her head.

M looked up self-consciously. "Darkest?"

The Headmaster nodded gravely. "The creation of a horcrux is considered the foulest act of dark magic. Those with weak stomachs should probably take this opportunity to leave."

M again blushed with shame that only increased exponentially as Dumbledore filled them in on the grisly details. His disgrace gained a note of rage when he learned that the only way to destroy the horcrux was to damage the vessel beyond repair. _I let him defile my TARDIS, _he thought.

"You didn't know what you were doing," whispered the Doctor, as if reading his mind.

"That doesn't make it all right."

The Doctor was slightly unnerved by the wild look in M's eyes, and the fact that he was biting his lip again. "Would you like another calming potion? The healer said you can have one every few hours until you start to feel better."

M considered this for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. The Doctor nodded, despite his increasing concern. He didn't want to treat his friend as if he were sick, but he didn't like seeing him in distress, either. "I've got one in my pocket if you need," he continued.

"Okay," replied M, forcing a smile.

The Doctor turned to the group. "At least we know about one of the horcruxes. The TARDIS should respond to our homing beacon."

"Is it truly indestructible?" asked Dumbledore.

"Nearly. There are ways to destroy a TARDIS…all of them highly unpleasant…but there _are ways_."

"Well, that's good news. We've already dealt with three horcruxes so far…Professor Quirrell, Tom Riddle's diary and this, Marvolo Gaunt's ring. Harry, remember when you accompanied me earlier in the summer to persuade Horace Slughorn to take a teaching post at Hogwarts this term? I believe he has knowledge that can help us find the other horcruxes."

"I have an idea," said Amy. "Why don't we pop to the future and see if you've found these horcruxes, then bring them all back here? What do you think, Doctor? Any fixed points lurking around?"

"Other than those two getting married…" he said, gesturing at Hermione and Ron, who suddenly seemed to have been Stunned, "…I think we're in the clear. As far as I can tell, there's no reason it shouldn't work. But to protect wizard and witch timelines, only the experienced time travelers should go."

The Doctor clapped once, excitedly, then leapt from his chair. M stood up beside him, then swooned and nearly upended the tea table. The Doctor caught him before he hit the floor, and helped him regain his footing. M blinked several times and said, "Thanks."

He then turned to the wizards and witches, and continued, "Thank you all for your help. I'm sorry I gave my TARDIS to Voldemort…but I swear I'll fix my mistake."

The Doctor smiled at the group and said, "See you in a few minutes and also in a year or two. Please try not to die, if you can avoid it."

Supporting M by the elbow, he strode out of the room.

Harry squinted, confused. "Don't think about it. I die all the time. It's no big deal," said Rory, taking Amy's hand and following after the Time Lords.

"Help yourself to whatever's in the wardrobe," said the Doctor, gesturing at M's tattered sweatshirt.

"Um, where would that be?"

"Through there, three corridors to the left, past the pool."

M lingered for a moment, then looked timidly at Amy and Rory. "I'm sorry if I caused you trouble."

"It's okay," said Amy.

"Bygones," said Rory.

M headed down the passageway. "Why can't he accept that it was the drums that made him mad?" Amy asked the Doctor.

"He _knows_ they did, but they were a part of him for so long, it's going to take time for him to separate his real personality from the brainwashed identity."

The Doctor frowned. "What is it?" asked Amy.

"If only I'd helped him sooner, so much suffering could've been prevented."

"You're here for him _now_. That was an incredibly generous thing you did for him."

"Generous would've been giving up all my regenerations, like River did when I was dying. This wasn't just for him…it was for me, too."

"Right. Now that you're not the only Time Lord, and he's finally willing and able to be your companion, you must be happy."

He looked away, guilty. "It's all right," Amy continued. "You're allowed to be happy. We're happy for you, even if it means you don't need us anymore. We had talked about, y'know, stopping."

The Doctor ran over to Amy and Rory, and rested a hand on each of their shoulders. "I _do _need you, Ponds. We've just made a new friend, is all."

He returned to the controls, scanning for energy fluctuations and contemplating how far into the future they should go. Rory said quietly, "He's being pretty nonchalant about this. I mean, _deep and pure love_, Amy…enough to bring someone back from the dead. That's not exactly casual."

"No, it's not. He's probably just afraid that things will get screwed up, so he's trying to play down how lucky he feels."

"But you can see it in his face."

"I know. Adorable, isn't it?"

M caught his reflection in the mirror, and started. His hair was a deep auburn. His face had changed, too. Still brown-eyed, still fair complected, but with a longer nose that had a discernable bump at the bridge. It wasn't an ugly face –everything looked symmetrical and in the proper place– but it would take getting used to. The body was slighter than the previous one, but no taller. His trousers rode low on his hipbones, and the black hoodie hung loose over his chest. Only the trainers seemed too tight. He threw everything off and rummaged through the racks of clothes. What the Doctor referred to as a wardrobe was more like a walk-in closet stuffed with costumes from every imaginable period of history. M searched until he found the more reasonable selections. He paused when his hand brushed by a blue pinstripe suit, but he was sure that the sleeves would be too long. Finally, he settled on a white button-down shirt, a gray jacket, jeans, and a pair of cordovan shoes. He turned to leave, and promptly collapsed.

"I know you've got a lot of clothes to choose from, but it's taking him a really long time. What if he fainted and drowned in the pool or something?" asked Amy.

The Doctor looked up at her, stricken, then took off running. "Are you _trying_ to terrify him?" asked Rory.

Amy shrugged. "I'm a mum. We worry."

The Doctor sprinted to the wardrobe, breathing hard. M was passed out on the floor, expression peaceful. The Doctor shook him gently and called his name, but there was no response; he was in a deep, recuperative coma. The Doctor picked him up and carried him through a short hallway into his bedroom, surprised by how light he was. "When you wake up, we're getting pizza and root beer floats."

He lay him down on the bed and took off his jacket and shoes, then arranged the covers around the sleeping man. He rose and dimmed the lights. "No locked doors this time."

He paused by the hatch and added, "I'm glad you're here. Please, don't leave."

The first thing they saw when they opened the TARDIS doors was a half-demolished Hogwarts. All of the wards had fallen, and they walked in through the front gates, which were hanging open. It was eerily still and quiet. Suddenly, a voice called out from far above. "Doctor! Rory! Amy!"

They looked up to see a figure on a broom hurtling towards them from a high tower of the castle. Harry Potter landed a few feet away and said, "Good to see you."

His face managed to look both solemn and content. He certainly appeared two years older. "Good to see you, too. What happened?" asked the Doctor.

"Voldemort is gone. You're looking at the aftermath of the final battle. It happened a month and a half ago, but I've been waiting here, for you."

"Ah...I should've mentioned that you didn't have to do that. We could've traced you anywhere on the planet."

"No, I wanted to wait. I wanted to be alone. Lots of people died, Doctor. Lots of good people, who were my friends…and they died because of me, or rather, because of Voldemort's fixation on me. We found all the horcruxes and destroyed them. It turned out that I was also a horcrux. I tried not to die…but I had to, so I did, and I then I came back to life. You were right, Rory, it wasn't a big deal. Voldemort killed the part of his soul that was in me, because I was the master of the Elder Wand, but Voldemort thought it belonged to him."

"Sorry, what?" asked the Doctor.

Harry smiled and sighed. "No, I'm sorry. Here," he said, pulling a thick roll of parchment from his pocket. "It's all in here, the horcruxes and what we had to do to find and destroy them. How I came to be the Master of Death, in order to defeat Voldemort. And a list of those who died."

The Doctor took the scroll. "You understand that if I show this to your past self, it could re-write time in unpredictable ways."

"Yes…but it's a long list of names."

"We'll do our best."

"Thank you. Um…there's one thing that bothers me. The red time machine…after Voldemort was defeated, it just vanished. If it contains a piece of his soul, there's a chance he could return someday."

"If it had been destroyed, I would know. I'll find it and take care of it."

Harry sighed with relief. "If you don't mind, I'd really like to go to the Burrow now, and let everyone know I met you. By the way, Hermione and Ron have been discussing marriage a lot lately."

"Well, they ought to be…their wedding is in six months."

Harry's jaw dropped in amazement. "Thanks again, Doctor. Amy, Rory."

Harry looked around. 'Is your friend still with you?"

"He's sleeping off the regeneration, in the TARDIS."

"Oh, right. For you, that only happened a few minutes ago. Rory, your family misses you a lot."

"Don't worry, we'll be back in time for your sixteenth birthday."

Harry squinted, then shook his head. "Shouldn't I remember that?"

"You will, in a few days. I mean, unless this timeline splits off into a parallel universe, or ceases to exist. Seriously, d-"

"Don't think about it. I remember. All right. Well…goodbye. See you soon."

"Would you like a ride?" asked the Doctor.

"Nah, I'll just Apparate."

Harry waved, gripped his Firebolt Mark Two tightly, and vanished.

Back inside the TARDIS, the Doctor pulled out the list of names and separated it from the rest of the scroll. He glanced at it quickly, then neatly folded it and put it in his jacket pocket. Then he scanned for the red TARDIS. "She's nowhere in the universe. But she didn't explode, so…ah, _ha! _Oh, how clever! I've just traced her last coordinates. She flew back into the time-locked dimension, sealing the tear and its mirror-tear behind her, trapping that piece of Voldemort forever."

"But if the tears have sealed, doesn't that mean we can't get home?" asked Rory.

"Nah, they're still there in the past…there's a large enough window to get back through."

The Doctor was beaming. "We can win this one."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"Draco, I want you to bring Dumbledore's wand to me by sunset tomorrow."

Draco was dumbstruck for a moment, but quickly snapped to his senses. "Yes, my Lord. Of course."

Narcissa shot her son a terrified look, but he was staring at the ornate carpet. She gazed pleadingly at Snape, who nodded, quite aware of the unbreakable vow he had made to protect Draco. "My Lord," he said. "May I accompany Mr Malfoy on his mission?"

Voldemort locked his crimson eyes on Snape for a long moment, then said, "Very well, but I want Draco to obtain the wand himself."

"Understood."

"If I may take my leave, my Lord, in order to begin planning…" said Draco.

Voldemort nodded and Draco left the library, trying his best not to look like he was running away.

As soon as he could leave, Snape found Draco in the downstairs study, filling a small glass from a crystal decanter of amber-colored liquor. He downed it in one gulp and poured another, hands trembling. "Would you care for a drink, Professor?"

"No, thank you."

"Then what can I do for you?"

"Do you have a plan?"

One look at the boy's stricken face told Snape all he needed to know. Draco let out a joyless, desperate laugh.

"Let me help you."

"The Dark Lord said he wants me to get the wand."

"All you have to do is disarm him, and I'll-"

"Don't tell me what to do. You're not my father. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a letter to write."

Snape paused before leaving, and said, "If I were you, I would appeal to his mercy."

Draco sneered. "Is that how you won his trust, with some vulgar display of remorse?"

Snape nodded solemnly and withdrew, closing the door gently behind him.

"July fifteenth, 1996!" announced the Doctor, materializing the TARDIS just outside of Hogwarts' wards.

The Doctor waved his sonic at the front gates, and was mildly surprised when they sprang open. "I wonder why I can get through, but the TARDIS can't."

"Maybe the gates are programmed to admit certain wizards, but not their…vehicles? You don't see any cars around here," said Amy.

The Doctor smiled widely. "I'm a _wizard!_ That's so cool."

The Doctor slapped a hand on the top of his head. "The hat! I've lost it!"

"It fell off," said Rory.

"What? When?"

"In the dungeon. While you were convulsing in agony."

"Oh, right. Did it happen to say what house I'm in?"

His companions shook their heads. "Leave it to you to be unsortable," said Rory.

They returned to Dumbledore's office, where everyone was still gathered. "Did you forget something?" asked Harry.

"No, we're back."

The Doctor handed Harry the rolled-up parchment, and continued, "This is a letter from your future self. I haven't read it, because it's your timeline. It's your choice to change the future."

Harry looked up at him pensively. "How was it? I mean, was it bad?"

"Good or bad…it's just one possible timeline."

Harry looked around the room at all of his friends, then made a decision. "I want to read it here, now, in front of everyone…because it affects all of us. There have been so many secrets," –he glanced at Dumbledore–, "I think it would be better not to create more."

He unfurled the pages and began to read aloud. The writing was very small, and it took a few hours to get through it all, but Harry didn't falter, even during the parts that made his heart twist in dread. After he was finished, everyone sat in silence for a long while, until there came the sound of scratching at the window. "An urgent owl," said Dumbledore, and let the bird inside.

It perched on the desk and offered its cream-colored letter to the Headmaster, then closed its eyes and immediately went to sleep. Dumbledore opened the envelope and quickly read the message, turned away from the group. "What is it, sir?" asked Harry.

"It's from Draco Malfoy. He wants to meet with me in private, as soon as possible. He is in terrible trouble and needs my help…he is ready to throw himself upon my mercy."

"May I see it?"

Dumbledore handed the letter to Harry, who squinted at the text. "It's illegible."

"It's been charmed so that only the intended recipient can decipher it. Which adds some credence to the contents."

"You can't be serious. This must be a trick to draw you out so he can murder you. The scroll says that he'll attempt to kill you multiple times."

"But, in the scroll, Draco doesn't begin his attempts until the school year has begun."

Harry realized that Dumbledore was right. "I don't get it…how can time be changing already? We haven't done anything yet."

"The fact that I got involved is changing things. The TARDIS horcrux wasn't part of Voldemort's plan," said the Doctor.

Harry got up and began to pace slowly in front of the Headmaster's desk. "If he's accelerating his plan, we have to assume that Draco is going to try to kill Dumbledore tomorrow. And, like in the Astronomy Tower, he won't be able to go through with it. And Snape will step in and…do it for him, then Voldemort will kill him for control of the wand, even though he is mistaken. All of this is about the _wand_...I think he already knows it's the Elder Wand. There must be a way to manipulate the ownership and get it into his hands, without anyone having to die for it…except me, temporarily. Voldemort has to try to kill me with it, but end up killing himself. Well, the _bloody _horcrux part of him, in me."

Harry stopped pacing. "I can't believe I'm a horcrux. It's so…disgusting."

"I can't believe I ran off on you two, in the woods. I guess I really am a massive coward," said Ron.

"You came back and saved me, idiot," said Harry.

"You nearly died!"

"But, I didn't."

"My brother did! We can't let that happen!"

"Listen!," said Hermione. "What's important is nobody's died yet. Right now, we need to go get the horcruxes and destroy them. Preferably by tomorrow. Is there enough time for that, Doctor?"

"We could spend years collecting the horcruxes, and still come back here five minutes from now, barring incident."

"I don't want to leave until we think of a plan that doesn't involve the deaths of Dumbledore and Snape," said Harry.

The Headmaster quietly said, "Please understand…we _must _go through with the plan, don't you see? I _must_ die, in order to convince Voldemort that the wand ownership has transferred to him. I am old and this curse will kill me within the year…a painful, humiliating death. I _want_ Professor Snape to take my life."

"You don't give a damn about what _he _wants, do you?! You've allowed him to wallow in his guilt and misery for nearly two decades, manipulating him like you manipulated me! I thought he _hated_ me until he finally opened up. And I know he did so only because of the Doctor and the Master. Seeing them work out their conflict gave him courage. While _you_ would've let him go to his grave with the best part of him left unrevealed. I get that he's spying to protect me, but it didn't need to be like this…all the wasted time, all the unnecessary sorrow. So why _is_ it this way? Is this some game you're playing? Are we all just…_chess pieces_ to you?"

"Harry, I thought I was doing the right thing."

"I refuse to let anyone else sacrifice their life for me. Doctor, can't you go back and tell him not to put that stupid ring on?"

"Nothing would've stopped me from putting this ring on, Harry," said Dumbledore.

"Just stop, please, sir."

The Doctor cleared his throat. "It's possible, yes…but the more I interfere with your timeline, the more chances there are for creating fixed points, and splitting off parallel universes. Neither of those are good, in terms of making your future better. Remind me about Polyjuice Potion."

"What?"

"You just read about it. During the Battle of the Seven Potters, a potion was used. How does it work?"

"Whoever drinks it take on the appearance of another. You just have to put a hair of the person you want to resemble into the prepared potion, first."

"So, someone could stand in for Dumbledore or Snape…or both…"

"That person would die."

"Not if they _can't_ die. Well, not, y'know, _permanently_. Excuse me, I'll be right back."


	19. Chapter 19

[Thanks for reading! Sorry for the slow update...this chapter gave me trouble. As soon as I added Jack Harkness, he took over and tried to give this fic an M rating, so I had go back and edit a lot out. :-) xo -HITW]

Chapter 19

"I have to admit, I'm feeling a little let down. I mean, your message… 'Jack, I need you'…way to be a tease, Doctor."

"Will you do it?"

"Of course. Just tell me when and where, and I'll die for you."

"It's not for me…it's for my friends."

"Same thing."

The Doctor hugged Jack Harkness, quickly, roughly. "Thank you."

Jack smiled. "Your new face…it's…"

"Less human?"

"More alien? More serious, for sure."

"Everyone has to grow up eventually."

Jack smirked. "Ah, you know that's a flagrant lie!"

The Doctor playfully pushed Jack towards the door of the TARDIS. They proceeded to Dumbledore's office, where the atmosphere was still tense in the wake of Harry's emotional outburst. The Doctor cleared his throat and said, "This is my friend Jack, who is immune to all forms of death."

"It's true!" Jack said cheerfully. "Hi, everyone!"

"Hello. Um…how is that possible?" asked Harry.

"Jack is a fixed point. Due to some very odd circumstances, every time he dies, he comes back to life," said the Doctor.

"Like you?"

"Not quite. I will eventually run out of energy and die for good. This is only my eleventh regeneration. Jack has come back to life…how many times?"

"Thousands…hundreds of thousands. Millions…billions? More than I can count, anyway," Jack said.

"You _just _said fixed points are bad for our timeline," said Hermione.

The Doctor scratched his head. "I did, didn't I? Jack is different. He's a free-floating fixed point. Fixed points aren't supposed to be _people_."

"Okay…right…don't think about it," said Ron.

"Ah, this is the moment when you started to catch on," said Rory.

After introductions were made, they filled Jack in on the details of the plan. "Seems simple enough," he said. "I just hope I've got the acting chops."

Harry faced Dumbledore. "Sir…would you mind terribly…not dying?"

Albus slowly opened and closed his blackened hand. After long contemplation he said, "For you, Harry, I will endure."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to the Doctor and said, "All right, let's get the horcruxes."

Ron and Hermione stood up. "We're coming along," said Ron. "We helped the first…er…future time, and we want to help now."

"And it just so happens that I've brewed up a lot of Polyjuice potion, in case we still need to sneak into the Ministry and Gringotts. I had a feeling we might need it," said Hermione.

They both looked at the Doctor, as if for permission. "Oh, all right. Allons-y!" cried the Doctor.

"Aw, I never thought I'd hear you say that again," said Jack, also rising from his chair. "Count me in…you never know when you might need me."

Jack winked. The Doctor scoffed, then smiled. "Headmaster, will you come along?"

"Someone has to watch the school!" he said, eyes twinkling.

_And someone has to remain to protect what's left of the Wizarding World from Voldemort, if we fail_, thought the Doctor.

Dumbledore continued, "While you're away, however brief that may seem to me, I'll endeavor to find and destroy Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem…that is, if nobody has any objections?"

"Please do…and thank you, sir," said Harry.

"Good luck, all of you."

They gathered a few potions and magical implements, and then filed into the TARDIS. "Since we're not sure when Mundungus Fletcher lifted the locket from Grimmauld Place, let's go there first to check," said Harry.

They were soon standing in front of a row of houses, and the Doctor was squinting. "There's an eleven…and there's a thirteen-"

He leapt back slightly as _eleven_ and _thirteen_ began to move apart, and another building bloomed between them. He shouted with glee, "Fantastic! But don't people notice that?"

"It's been charmed to be invisible to Muggles. Only trusted wizards can see it," said Hermione.

She suddenly frowned, and then turned to Harry. "How do you really know for sure that Snape is on our side?"

"It's in the scroll. Do you think I'd lie to myself about that?"

"Of course not. Sorry. It's just…in the scroll you didn't say what convinced you."

"He showed me his memories today. He's definitely on our side."

"But…_why_ is he on our side? Why risk his life for you, so many times?"

"He loved my mother."

Harry blushed a little as he said this, but Hermione's expression was solemn and receptive. "He really did?"

"From the time they were children, and he still does. He joined the Death Eaters in a stupid attempt to impress her. It was –obviously– a huge mistake, and it ruined his life."

"He showed you all that, before he taught you how to Occlude?"

"Well, yeah."

"Harry, what if you hadn't been able to learn it? If Voldemort invaded your mind again, he would know for sure that Snape is a traitor."

"Oh. You're right. I did learn it, though. I guess we're protecting each other now."

"Last question, I swear."

"Sure."

"How _did _you learn it this time, when it was impossible for you last year?"

"I think because part of Voldemort's soul is in me, I can't shut him out the usual way…y'know, with mental discipline. It was Professor Snape's idea that I should try to Occlude with love, instead…and it worked. I can protect my thoughts by surrounding them with positive feelings. Think about it…I survived the killing curse because of my mum's love, and I destroyed Quirrell just by touching him, using the same power. Tom Riddle doesn't understand love. He's never had real friends, or anyone he cared about, except himself…and look what he's done to himself. Our best weapon against him is love."

He looked at Hermione, and could tell that she had about a million more questions, but she just squeezed his shoulder for a moment, and then smiled. They entered 12 Grimmauld Place. The house was silent and dark; none of the members of the Order of the Phoenix were present at the moment. They went directly to Kreacher's cupboard. The house elf was not inside, and neither was the locket, much to their dismay. "Damn, that bugger moves fast," said Ron.

The ceiling made a creaking noise. Harry bolted upstairs, the others close behind. He burst into a murky room to find Mundungus Fletcher standing on the bed, half-cowering against the wall as the house elf approached him menacingly. Catching sight of Harry, the man in tatty robes drew himself up to full height and froze. "Filthy thief!" cried Kreacher, bony hands curled in fury.

"It's okay, Kreacher," said Harry, stepping forward.

"Cough it up, Dung," said Ron.

"I dunno what the elf is on about…I'm allowed to be here, it's our headquarters, innit," said Mundungus.

"I know you've been stealing things since Sirius died," said Harry. "He left me everything. So, you've been stealing from _me_. I'm willing to overlook what's already missing if you'll hand over a certain item. A locket, marked with an 'S'."

"Oh…you mean this?" said the man, pulling the necklace from his pocket. "Someone'd chucked in the bin…thought it wouldn't matter if I-"

"Liar," said Kreacher, swiping it from his outstretched hand and clutching it to his chest. Relieved, Harry approached the house elf and knelt down so they were at eye level. "Regulus ordered you to destroy that."

The house elf looked into his eyes, amazed. "Kreacher couldn't do it. Tried everything."

"Bring it to Hogwarts right away, and go directly to Dumbledore. He has the means to destroy it. If you want to do it yourself, ask him. I'm sure he'll allow it. Wait for us there."

Kreacher looked baffled, but nodded. "Thank you, Harry Potter."

He bowed slightly, and then vanished. "That was very kind of you, Harry, considering his part in Sirius' death," said Hermione.

"Sirius would probably be alive if he'd been kind to Kreacher. Besides…his death…it was mostly my fault. I shouldn't have fallen for that false vision. If I could've just calmed down and learned Occlumency last year, seen past my anger and mistrust of Snape-"

"Look, it's nobody's fault except You-Know-Who's. He's the one with the evil plans," said Ron.

Harry sighed and said, "Let's focus on Helga Hufflepuff's cup. Bellatrix is wanted for the Death Eater attack on the Ministry, and would be arrested on sight. So impersonating her is out."

"Only for now. The Death Eaters take over the Ministry next year. We can go there in the TARDIS," said Rory.

"Oh. Yeah, of course. Still getting used to this. Let's go on the same day as in the scroll…May 1, 1998, I think it was…just to make sure we don't run into the real Bellatrix. Hopefully that part of the timeline hasn't changed."

"But…we need her hair. We only got the hair because that bitch was hurting Hermione," said Ron.

Hermione shuddered, remembering the description in the scroll of the torture she'd endured. The Doctor looked at her pained expression, and suddenly made a connection. "Maybe she dropped a hair on M's clothes."

They all darted from the room, down the stairs, and back to the TARDIS. After he was sure that they were gone, a bewildered Mundungus climbed down from the bed and began to examine a pair of silver candlesticks on the mantle.

The Doctor carefully unfolded M's discarded clothes and spread them out on the floor of the wardrobe, and began to sweep them with the sonic in slow careful passes. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Amy, and Rory all waited in anxious silence, while Jack looked confused. "Whose clothes are these again?"

"M's. Let's see…blood…grass…sweat –_hair_—my hair, sorry. Dirt…soot…biscuit crumbs…"

"Who is M?"

"New companion."

The Doctor carefully lifted a long, black hair from the hood of M's torn sweatshirt. "Magical, human, female," he said.

"M? Or this Bellatrix chick?"

"M isn't a…chick."

"Oh. And where is he?"

"Asleep in my bed. Let's put this somewhere for safekeeping."

Jack walked swiftly down the hallway and snuck a peek into the Doctor's bedroom. There was indeed a man sleeping in the Doctor's bed, and from what he could see, he was young and attractive. After taking a few deep breaths, he turned and rejoined the group as they headed towards the control room. Amy took one look at Jack's expression and pulled the Doctor aside. "You have to clear up the confusion."

"Confusion?" asked the Doctor, raising an eyebrow.

"About the presence of a person in your bed."

"What's there to be confused about that?"

Amy's eyes widened incredulously. "Things that people do in beds. Sleep…read…"

"Eat breakfast?"

"Yes. And what else?"

"Have pillow fights, tell stories, play Scrabble-"

"Tell Jack you're not…_dating_ M."

"That's silly."

"Just tell him. He's furiously jealous. You must realize he adores you."

"Right. Right, human feelings. Always tricky."

The Doctor caught up to Jack and slapped him gently on the shoulder. "So…um…just so you know…I'm not dating M."

"It's none of my business."

The Doctor squinted. "Okay, but I'm not. He passed out in there and I thought it best to let him sleep. Don't want you to get the wrong idea."

"What wrong idea would that be? That you're capable of having a sexual relationship with someone? Or that if that someone happened to be male, it wouldn't be me?"

"I…I don't know."

The Time Lord blushed. He hadn't felt this awkward since Amy had tried to rip his clothes off in her bedroom a few years back. Jack smirked at him. "It's amazing. You're so old, and such a child sometimes. Where'd you find him, anyway?"

"I think I should let him tell that story, when he wakes up."

Jack had spent enough time with the Doctor to know when he was withholding information, but he didn't push. "Fair enough."

They parked the TARDIS on May 1, 1998, in an inconspicuous neighborhood of muggle London. "Remember, there's a Taboo curse on Voldemort's name in the future. We don't know when exactly that was put into effect. Don't let's say it, for safety's sake," said Hermione.

Harry Apparated with his invisibility cloak to Diagon Alley, where he grabbed a few newspapers and eavesdropped a bit, then returned. "I'm still Undesirable #1," he said.

"That's hardly accurate," Jack said quietly.

"Jack, don't," said the Doctor.

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes. Harry adjusted his glasses and continued, "So…I guess we go ahead with the plan."

Hermione put on a gothic dress that the Doctor had in his wardrobe, and drank the Polyjuice potion. Within seconds, she transformed. Ron and Harry gasped. "What? Is it terrible?" she asked.

She lifted a hand mirror and saw the face of Narcissa Malfoy. "Wrong witch," groaned Ron.

"Oh no," she said, eyes brimming with tears.

"This could still work," said Harry. "Narcissa and Bellatrix are sisters…I bet the Lestrange vault isn't far from the Malfoy's. We continue with the plan, Imperius whatever goblin brings us down there, and have him lead us to the Lestrange vault instead. In a way, it's better…since Narcissa isn't such a raving psycho, it should be easier to pretend to be her."

"Well, I'm going to need a nicer frock," said Hermione. "Oh, but what if they ask for identification?"

"I've got something for that," said the Doctor, reaching into his jacket pocket.

Soon, they were all dressed in an odd array of clothing calculated to make them look like Death Eaters. Though a group this large was more suspicious, nobody could be persuaded to stay behind. They disguised Ron with a few charms, and Harry drank a Polyjuice potion to assume the form of M, though he stayed under the cloak for added protection.

They Apparated to an obscure side street off of Diagon Alley. Once Rory and Amy's nausea from traveling in such a manner had passed, they all approached Gringotts with an affectation of pure confidence. They received a lot of sidelong glances as they walked through the front hall up to the reception desk, but the goblin took one look at the psychic paper and ushered them swiftly to a cart.

They had no trouble using the Imperius curse on the goblin, and were ready with the Shield Charm as they passed under the Thief's Downfall, diverting the stream of water. Once inside the Lestrange vault, they even found the cup with ease, and retrieved it without disturbing any of the charmed objects. Though it was tempting to free the blind dragon on their way out, they agreed that it was too risky. "After this is over, we are coming back here and releasing that poor creature," said Hermione, angrily.

Soon they were back in the TARDIS, returned to their normal appearances. "I can't believe how easy that was. Usually our plans go to hell," said Ron. "It's almost unfair to You-Know-Who, since we know the future and everything."

Hermione glared at him. He hastily added, "Joking."

"I know," said Harry, smiling. "But what I'm trying to figure out is how we can bring an object from the future to the past. I mean…won't there be two versions of it?"

Everyone looked at the Doctor. 'There's only one cup. They'll just sort of overlap a bit."

Hermione frowned. "But if we destroy the one we just stole form the vault in 1998, what will happen to Helga Hufflepuff's cup that's inside the vault in 1996, when we couldn't get at it? Because if it's still a horcrux, isn't that a problem? Aren't we just creating an extra horcrux?"

"No, there's only one cup, one horcrux. It's just making a funny detour though time, and hanging out in two different places at once. When it's destroyed, it's destroyed _at that moment_, even if it's also _not _destroyed at that moment, at least as far as one can tell without observing it."

"Excuse me, what?"

"Everything, Hermione…absolutely everything is in a state of quantum fluctuation-"

"It'll work," said Amy. "Because it'll work."

When they entered Dumbledore's office, they found the wizard calmly sitting at his desk, upon which lay the charred-looking remains of a diadem and a locket. A very pleased-looking Kreacher was setting out tea on a table. "You were gone for nearly an hour this time. I trust all went well?" asked the Headmaster.

"Surprisingly, yes," said Harry, showing him the golden cup.

A spike of pain shot through his scar. He immediately flooded his thoughts with feelings of love for his friends and his intense desire to protect them. The coldness that was trying to invade his mind seemed to recoil in shock for a moment, then attacked again with renewed force. Though Harry felt his scar burning, he also felt absolute confidence in his ability to Occlude. Shielding his thoughts meant shielding his friends from harm, and that was something he could focus on with natural ease. So, when a sensation of panic hit, he instantly recognized it as Voldemort's and not his own. Instinctually, he pressed forward, and got a quick glimpse of the other's mind, before the link was abruptly terminated.

Harry blinked, then rubbed the ache out of his scar. "He's been torturing Ollivander again, about the Elder Wand. He wants it so badly, and he's sure you've got it, Dumbledore, sir. He expects to get it tomorrow."

Dumbledore's expression was somber. "I'd hoped that Draco was sincere. Perhaps there's still a chance…"

"I'm sure everything will work out okay, as long as we plan it out carefully. But before we do anything else, it's time we got rid of this cup."

Dumbledore handed him the sword of Gryffindor. Harry passed it to Ron and said, "You should do it."

Harry placed the cup on the floor, and everyone stepped back. Ron glanced nervously at Hermione, who nodded encouragingly. He took a deep breath and swung the sword at the cup with all his might. It split in two, and an enormous plume of black smoke exploded out of it, accompanied by an almost inhuman scream. Ron placed the blackened cup next to the other destroyed horcruxes, and lay the sword down. Hermione hugged him and said, "Good job."

Ron blushed. Things had felt different between he and Hermione ever since the Doctor's comment about marriage. He supposed that the eccentric alien could've been lying, or trying to be funny or provocative, but Ron was secretly as thrilled as he was nervous. He had loved Hermione for some time, but was afraid to make a move, for fear of rejection. It was still hard for him to accept that she could possibly prefer him to Harry. Maybe he just hadn't been paying attention before, but now he was reading into her every small gesture, and racking his mind for signals he'd missed. Girls could be so subtle, and he knew he wasn't the brightest.

Hermione had been consciously in love with Ron for quite a while longer than she would ever admit, but this summer at the Burrow had given her feelings special clarity. She'd realized beyond a doubt that she wanted to become a member of his family. So, when the Doctor said they would be married, she felt that it was true, even if half the time it made no sense; the one thing in her life that denied logical reasoning. He was immature and could be insensitive. He certainly wasn't her intellectual equal. Yet, he had a big heart, a warm and humble nature, and a charm she couldn't deny. She knew they would be together when it was right, and didn't mind waiting for him to sort out his feelings. Boys had such a slow learning curve, and she knew she wasn't easy to read.

Each suddenly became aware of holding the other's hand.


	20. Chapter 20

[Thanks for reading, please comment if you like it.]

Chapter 20

"Whoa," said Harry, gripping the Elder Wand, which had seemed to leap from Dumbledore's hand into his own. "Forgive me, sir, but I didn't think _Expelliarmus_ would work on you."

"Perhaps it's because I was willing to relinquish ownership. Though, legend has it the Elder Wand can be especially fickle," mused the Headmaster.

"How can I be sure it's really mine?" asked Harry.

Even as he voiced this concern, the electric feeling racing from his fingertips, up his arm, and across his heart was already providing the answer. "Try it on something," said Ron.

Harry gulped. He felt powerful, but equally hesitant. "Rather not," he said quietly, and handed the wand to Dumbledore.

Rory spoke up. "Okay, so even though you just gave it back, you should still have ownership because of the disarming charm. That wand should be unwilling to hurt you, its true master. Even when Malfoy disarms Jack masquerading as Dumbledore, you won't lose ownership."

"Are these like, magic laws?" asked Amy.

Rory nodded enthusiastically. "There isn't a lot, but I've studied all of the wandlore I could find."

"_Wandlore_. Of course."

Dumbledore seated himself at his desk and began to write a letter. "I'm going to accept Mr Malfoy's suggestion that we meet at the Black Loch at midday tomorrow."

"Outside the wards, cos the ferret wouldn't dare attack you here. He's too afraid of being caught," said Ron.

"Yes, he is terribly frightened, Mr Weasley. Please try to understand…he doesn't believe he can succeed, and if he fails, Voldemort will show him no mercy."

"How can you sympathize with a Death Eater, sir?"

"He is also a student. He is also a child. It is very likely that he was forced to take the Dark Mark."

The Doctor perked up at the word _child_. "This Draco is one of your schoolmates?"

"He's not our mate! He's an arrogant, sadistic little freak," said Ron.

"_Ron_," said Hermione. "Yes, Doctor, he's in our year. The Malfoys are one of the pureblood wizard families loyal to Voldemort."

"Does being pureblood matter?"

"Voldemort seems to think so."

"The Weasleys are pureblood, and we would never follow that lunatic, or buy into his twisted ideas," said Ron.

"I'm curious…what's the difference between you and the Malfoys?" asked the Doctor.

Ron's jaw dropped and his face turned scarlet. "Only everything in the world! If you _knew_…how they're…they're _awful_ and we're not. They've got…too much damn money, for starters. They use dark magic. They think they're better than everyone. They're…"

"Affiliated with Slytherin house?"

"Well, _yeah_."

The Doctor mulled this over, while contemplating the shattered locket, the broken cup, and the twisted diadem. "I think this war has been brewing for centuries. Headmaster, when it's over, I wonder if you would consider disbanding the school houses."

It wasn't a question, and the Doctor didn't seem to expect an answer. Dumbledore regarded the Time Lord with an inscrutable expression, and then said without inflection, "I do respect and appreciate your opinion."

He affixed the letter to Draco's owl and sent it on its way. They went over the plan several times, considering contingencies, until everyone except the Doctor began to yawn with exhaustion. Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I just wish there was some way to warn Professor Snape, but a letter could be intercepted. Even if it was encoded, it would look bad for him."

"You think he won't be able to go through with it?" asked Jack.

"He'll do it, with a little coaxing," said Dumbledore. "I believe that's what's upsetting Mr Potter. Professor Snape will believe that he is murdering me."

"It _is_ a terrible thing to make someone do, sir. And what if he leaves too quickly for us to explain everything? Why doesn't he just get back here?" Harry asked rhetorically.

"Don't worry," said Hermione. "We won't let him leave, even if we have to _Stun_ him."

Ron smiled deviously. Harry laughed. "Okay. Sounds good. Well…I'm knackered."

Ron, Hermione and Harry went off to the Gryffindor dormitory. Dumbledore withdrew to his private chambers. Rory and Amy retired to their bunk beds in the TARDIS. Jack sheepishly followed the Doctor into the control room. "All right, you can stay here…just for the night," said the Time Lord.

Jack beamed, then his gaze was drawn past the Doctor. "Oh, hello!"

M was standing at the top of the short staircase, gripping the railing, expression startled. Jack stepped towards him. M half-stepped half-stumbled backwards.

"Jack, don't," said the Doctor.

"I'm just saying hello."

"You're doing that _thing_ you always do. And this time it's really inappropriate."

"Is it my _fault_ your companions are so cute? Well, really, this one is more like _foxy_."

M looked away and blushed furiously, though it had little to do with the compliment and much more to do with the fact that he was in the position of having to re-acquaint himself with a man who he had viciously tortured for over a year. He felt light-headed, dizzy, sick to his stomach. The Doctor approached him. "Had a good sleep?"

M flicked a sidelong glance at Jack, eyes wide with fear. "I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to warn you," said the Doctor. "You don't have to-"

"Yes, I do," M said, despite his pounding hearts.

He moved around the Doctor and towards Jack, until they were standing just a few feet apart. "I'm M," he began.

"_M_ for magnetic, magnificent, mystery?"

"Jack, shut up, I mean it," said the Doctor.

"M…formerly the Master," said M, forcing himself, agonizing though it was, to meet the man's eyes.

Jack's smile fell. M was visibly shaking. His knees felt like they were about to give out, and his tongue felt like a lead weight, but he stood his ground and continued, "I don't expect you'll believe me…but I am extremely sorry for what I did to you."

Jack looked at the Doctor, dumbstruck. "He means it, Jack. He was suffering from a mental illness the whole time you knew him, and has just recently found relief."

Jack stared closely at M, inspecting him as if he were an insect. "Are you telling me this is the same person who killed me hundreds of times for _fun_, made Martha's family into slaves, abused his wife, tortured you, and took over-"

"I forgive him. I don't expect everyone will, but I do, because I recognize that he was _ill_ when he did those things, and he isn't now."

"How convenient," said Jack, expression murderous.

M grabbed Jack's hand and pressed it to his own throat. "Do what you think is right," he said, softly.

The temptation to snap his neck was surprisingly strong, and Jack knew he could do it. It would only take a second to spin him around, hook an elbow under his chin, and apply enough torque to end his life. He was delicately built, and wasn't resisting in the slightest. On the contrary, his hands pressed Jack's grip tighter, encouragingly. He was clearly terrified, but also clearly prepared to die.

If Jack needed convincing that hurting M would also hurt the Doctor, one look would've told him all he needed to know. The Doctor was frozen in place, face drained of color. Jack was a little shocked by this reaction, because it was apparent that the Doctor didn't really trust him all that much. Did Jack deserve his trust? He wasn't sure. He had, after all, suggested dispatching the Master in precisely this way, after his plan to take over the universe had been defeated. But he remembered the Doctor's admonition of this idea, and would never forget how the Doctor had wept, how he had cradled the Master's body when he'd refused to regenerate after being shot. Jack had never seen him more agonized, and the last thing he wanted to do, despite his animosity towards the Master, was inflict such pain on the Doctor again. He moved his hands to M's shoulders, met his gaze and said, "It's okay."

"_No!_ No, it's not. Everyone keeps saying that but it's not true! I understand why he won't…but why won't you kill me?"

Jack recognized genuine sorrow and regret in M's eyes. He had seen the same look in the mirror on more than one occasion. Sometimes he'd excused his actions as necessary for the greater good, but sometimes no explanation seemed to justify the terrible things he'd done. Still, despite his failings and flaws he kept trying to be a good man, because he'd been inspired by one. If not for meeting the Doctor, Jack might have remained a coward. The Doctor had shown him time and again that compassion was the greatest strength a person could hope to possess.

Jack stepped forward and gently hugged M, completely aware of how dramatically his own mind-set had shifted in a matter of moments. M didn't return the hug or pull away, he just let himself be handled, still anticipating violence. Jack said, "I forgive you. It's okay to forgive yourself."

A muffled sob. "How? How can I?"

"Trust that the Doctor is _right_ about you. Can you do that?"

There was a long pause, then Jack felt him nod against his chest, and felt tentative hands on his back. Jack kissed the crown of his head protectively, as one would kiss a child. M took a few deep breaths and slowly pulled away. He rubbed his shirt cuff on Jack's coat lapel where the wool was glistening with tears, and whispered, "Is he angry at me?"

"No, I'm sure he's not…why do you think he'd be?"

"Because I kinda want to d-die. If you n-noticed."

M laughed crazily, his sobbing renewed. Jack squeezed his shoulder. "I know how that feels," he said casually. "And since I don't have the option of, y'know, _dying_…I can promise you it gets better with time."

M nodded, and struggled to regain control of his breathing. "I'll try and remember t-that, thanks."

"You can count me as a friend, all right?"

"All right."

The Doctor watched this entire exchange in awe, not only at Jack's immeasurable kindness, but also at his own unfamiliar pang of jealousy. "M," he said, perhaps a bit too loudly.

M turned towards the Doctor, hastily wiping his eyes, and said the Doctor's name. Jack's eyes widened. M looked anxious, like he might've messed up, but he was reassured by the Doctor's smile, which could be described as overjoyed, though it bordered on smug. "Was that your real name? Say it again, I didn't quite catch it," urged Jack.

"Sorry, you won't be able to catch it. Gallifreyan is impossible for humans to comprehend," said the Doctor.

_And that was something, wasn't it? _thought the Doctor. Something between he and M, that nobody else could touch. M wasn't a human companion, dazzled and seduced by the romance of adventuring through time and space with a charismatic alien. He was a Time Lord, just as complicated, intelligent, and powerful. _A true equal_, _and hard won at that,_ thought the Doctor, though it caused him a twinge of guilt when he compared M to his human friends, and a thread of possessiveness still tugged oddly at his heart, though he understood it now. There was something irresistibly rough and new about the promise of traveling with another Time Lord, and the Doctor could not deny any longer that this is what he truly desired and would fight for fiercely, even if it proved far from easy. He wanted M to be happy, of course, but happy with him. Seeing him make progress so quickly (quicker than the Doctor knew he could've managed if the situation were reversed, if he was being totally honest with himself) sparked the anxious feeling that M might someday surpass him and look for company elsewhere, and this day might occur uncomfortably sooner rather than later. M was fragile for the time being, recovering from what was essentially a lifetime of trauma, while settling into his new regeneration, not to mention working through the effects of the counter-curse, but he was undeniably on a swift path to recovery and once he didn't need the Doctor anymore —for comfort, friendship, help, _anything_— what would compel him to stay?

The Doctor was sweating slightly. It was uncommon. "But…but, I'm not really human anymore," Jack was saying.

"Let it go. M, we need to get a message to Snape. How's your remote telepathy?"

"I'm sure you're better at it."

"No, not really. I'm okay at touch-telepathy, but remote has always been difficult for me. It took me an entire year to hack the psychic network you'd set up."

"Oh. Right," said M, smile fading and gaze drifting to the floor.

_Every time you try to encourage him, you say the wrong thing_, thought the Doctor. _Do better._ "I'm sorry. What I meant is, you're brilliant and we need your help. Plus, you and Snape have already made a psychic connection."

M was a bit dumbfounded, but he shook it off and said, "What's the message?"

Severus tried not to stare at Voldemort's long skeletal hands, resting like spiders on the black lacquer table, though if he didn't keep his gaze away from his cadaverous face it might get stuck there. It wasn't exactly ugly, Snape thought. He'd always been drawn to morbid things, and skeletons were Death pared down to its most quintessential form. Snape found Voldemort's new look disturbing simply because it was difficult to believe that any human body could withstand such mutilation and manage to carry on. Yet the crimson eyes still burned, the veins in his throat still pulsed, and the sinister voice still stirred to speak. "Well, Severus?"

"Still no sign of the…aliens, my Lord, despite a thorough search of the grounds. It appeared to me and Bellatrix as if the Doctor captured the Master."

"Yes…he was afraid of that. No matter. Protect the time machine with the strongest wards, accessible only to me, you, and Bellatrix. Shield it from view, then return here directly."

As Snape bowed deeply and moved to the door, Voldemort added, "Bella, dear…help him."

"Yes, my Lord," she said, rising from her chair and following Snape outside.

She had been shadowing him ever since he'd been summoned back from Hogwarts. Snape had hoped he'd be able to slip away again after having a private word with Draco, but Lestrange was waiting right outside the door to the study. Whether she'd been ordered to do so, or whether she was taking the initiative, Snape knew that he was under scrutiny. As they applied wards around the red TARDIS, she asked, "Where'd you go, right after they vanished?"

"I searched the grounds."

"For five hours?"

"As I told the Dark Lord, I searched _thoroughly_."

She sneered. He rounded the TARDIS, casting a protection spell, and was luckily out of her line of sight when he had the sudden sensation of his brain being squeezed. It was a crawling electric feeling, and Severus wondered briefly if he were having a stroke, but it passed after a moment and a familiar voice said, _Severus, it's M_.

Sensing his confusion, M continued, _Time Lords are telepathic, too. I'm still at the school._

_Impressive Legilimency, _thought Snape automatically. He could only hear M's voice. His emotions were hazy, distant.

_Draco sent us a letter. You and he will meet Dumbledore at the lake here, tomorrow at noon. The man who appears will look like Dumbledore, but it isn't him. You can kill this man without hesitation, and know that he will not be harmed. It sounds crazy, but he cannot die. _

Sensing Snape's incredulity, M sent him a memory of one of the many times he had killed Jack and watched him come back to life. Snape was nearly bent double by the intense wave of guilt and shame that accompanied the vision, feelings so fresh that Snape could tell that they weren't part of the memory, but something M was currently experiencing. The Time Lord showed him enough that he accepted the truth of Jack's condition, then closed off his memories and emotions again. _Sorry about that. After you do it, don't leave. _

M's voice sounded much weaker than before, as if he were rapidly losing energy. _Understood_, thought Snape.

_Good luck_, came the very quiet reply. Then there was another electric feeling, and Snape returned to normal, or as close to normal as one could feel in this situation; weird even by Wizarding World standards. He glanced at Bellatrix as she side-stepped around the time machine. She was concentrating on the ward she was putting up. Though she was suspicious of Snape, she loved her Dark Lord too much not to focus single-mindedly on the task of protecting him, and Snape was grateful for this.

Voldemort sat stroking Nagini's flat scaly head, and contemplated the feeling of tension that was coursing through him. He had never experienced a rush of power quite like what he'd felt after fusing a piece of his soul to the core of the time machine. Unlike other objects he'd chosen for horcruxes, this one had an energy that fed back into him, and the magnitude of the power was startling, even to a wizard as accomplished as Lord Voldemort. He was also surprised that the energy felt decidedly sentient. Nagini and Harry were also sentient horcruxes, but Voldemort controlled their connection. He could possess Harry, but Harry could not possess him. The TARDIS was different. Though he would never admit it, even to his closest allies, Voldemort wasn't certain he could control the seemingly inexhaustible wellspring of energy that was emanating from the alien spacecraft. Not that he regretted his decision. He felt incredible, almost god-like. It was just that he also felt as though his thought process was accelerating exponentially, and he seemed to be running a slight fever.

The desire to complete his plans was growing increasingly strong, and at the forefront of his thoughts was Harry. He was puzzled as to how the boy had managed to Occlude his mind so well today, when he'd never been able to do it before. Voldemort had gathered from Harry's feeling of safety that he was at Hogwarts, but was otherwise blocked from penetrating his thoughts. This caused him a momentary feeling of panic, which in and of itself was unusual. Sure, he had his neurotic phobias, but he'd taken great pains to protect himself from those. This fear was different. All at once, he was little Tom Riddle again, cast adrift with absolutely nobody to help him, surrounded by hateful Muggle children and their cruel ignorant grins. He knew that he'd never been loved, and that this had damaged him. This was an intellectual observation, not something he felt keenly. Yet, being shut out so completely and decisively by Harry's shield of love had elicited an emotional reaction. He was terrified for an irrational moment that Harry might love him.

He was now perversely thrilled, because Harry's confirmed hatred meant all was well and good…it just served to perfect their upcoming confrontation. He was also immensely relieved, because Voldemort could not tolerate the idea that Harry could feel the slightest positive emotion towards him. It seemed weak, pathetic, pitiable. No, he preferred Harry to be just the same as him. After all, he had marked the boy as his equal.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Jack smoothed his long white beard, and tried to look as wise as possible as a platinum blonde boy stalked across the lawn towards him. Jack and Dumbledore had talked for hours about how this confrontation might unfold, and Jack had practiced the Headmaster's voice until the difference was barely discernable. Now all he had to do was stay calm and hope that nothing went wrong.

Draco was so nervous, he felt beads of perspiration running down his back, despite his summer-weight robes. Scotland was rarely sunny, and today was no exception; the clouds were low and steely-gray. He saw Dumbledore by the lake, alone, and approached as coolly as possible, though he was gripping his wand for dear life. He knew Snape was waiting just inside the forest, and would Apparate to help him if he faltered, but this didn't do much to ease his terror at facing off with one of the most powerful wizards of all time. Dumbledore wouldn't hurt him, he was sure of that, but no matter what happened, it was sure to be horrible. "Good afternoon, Headmaster."

"Mr Malfoy."

Draco decided to cut to the chase. "I'm sorry, sir, but I've been ordered to kill you."

Jack looked at him. The kid really was a mess. He flicked a stray hair out of his eyes, glanced wildly towards the woods for an instant, and continued, "Sir, I have no choice."

"There's always a choice. Come to our side, and we'll protect you."

"My mother is being held at the manor. He'll torture her. I can't let that happen. Please, defend yourself."

Draco stepped back and drew his wand, hand shaking badly as he aimed it at Jack's chest. Jack just shook his head and sighed, according to the plan. "You don't want to do this."

"Of course I bloody well don't!"

They stood like that for more than a minute, until Snape appeared next to Draco with a _crack_, leveled his wand at Jack, and cast _Avada Kedavra_ without hesitation. Jack crumpled to the ground. Snape stooped over the body and grabbed the wand out of his robes, and then tried to put it in Draco's hand, which was still outstretched. The boy was frozen in place, eyes locked on the form of Dumbledore, and his face was a few shades paler than usual. "Take it," said Snape, trying to prise Draco's fingers open.

"Oh God," said Malfoy, and fainted.

"Stupefy," whispered Harry, aiming his wand at Draco's already unconscious form.

He peeked his head out of the invisibility cloak and said, "That was convenient. He won't even realize he was Stunned."

Snape was kneeling over Jack again, looking very anxious. Harry knelt down next to him and said, "It's not Dumbledore."

Snape nodded once, but didn't take his eyes off the body. Time seemed to slow to a standstill. Just as Harry began to get really nervous, Jack took an enormous gasp and sat up. Snape leapt backwards. Jack smiled at him. "Hel_lo_, tall, dark and handsome! I'm Jack Harkness, nice to meet ya!"

Harry wished he had a camera to capture Snape's expression, an odd mixture of indignation, bewilderment, and mortification. "A piece of your hair, please, sir," said Harry, struggling to keep a straight face.

The potions master snapped to his senses, and trimmed a tiny bit of his lank locks for the Polyjuice. "Mr Harkness, you should be aware that the Dark Lord may examine your thoughts to confirm what happened here."

Jack's mouth fell open. "There is _no way_ I can fake _that voice_."

Again, Harry had to stifle his laughter as he took in Snape's face, which was turning a bit pink. "This is of the utmost seriousness, Mr Harkness. Perhaps _you _cannot die, but there are lives in grave danger."

Jack drank the potion, and assumed the appearance of Snape. "I get it, I really do. I _was_ being serious…if I have to speak, he's going to know I'm not you."

"We can charm your voice," said Harry. "It won't be perfect, so just stay as quiet as possible, and let Draco go in first so Voldemort reads his mind instead. Besides, I bet he'll be distracted by the wand."

Jack nodded, reassured, and began to strip. "What are you doing?" Snape asked brusquely.

"We've got to switch clothes, don't we? C'mon, take it off."

Harry was really about to laugh that time, but he caught Snape's horrified look as Jack revealed the pale, lanky torso hidden beneath Dumbledore's gray robes, and suddenly understood his discomfort. This wasn't the first time he'd been stripped down against his will, in the presence of people who resembled Harry Potter in one way or another. Snape looked livid, but more than that, he looked terrified and ashamed, clearly reliving his worst memory. Harry quickly turned away, and went to stand behind a tree until he was sure that they were both dressed again. "Here, take my wand. Hopefully, the wards on the manor will detect it and admit you. Remember, don't call him Voldemort. It's the Dark Lord, or _my Lord_," Snape said, as he applied a glamour spell to Jack's vocal chords.

"Got it. See you guys soon."

The voice was passable enough. Jack grabbed up Draco and the Elder Wand, activated his Vortex Manipulator, and vanished.

Snape turned towards Harry. They stared at each other for a long moment. Snape gestured at his silky, pearl-colored robes, and burst out laughing. Harry joined in eagerly, and they lingered by the lake for longer than was strictly necessary, graced by a few beams of sunlight that had, against all odds, managed to defy the clouds.

Draco regained consciousness on the lawn of Malfoy Manor. "Whuh…what happened?"

Jack just helped him up, handed him the Elder Wand, and pointed towards the house. Draco went directly to the library, where he bowed to Voldemort and presented him with the wand. Voldemort examined it closely, then cast Legilimens on Draco. After a minute, he sighed. "Where is Professor Snape?"

"Outside, my Lord."

Voldemort Apparated from the room, and appeared next to Jack a moment later. "Severus…I'd hoped to avoid this."

Jack looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Voldemort continued, "I told you I wanted Draco to get the wand himself. Do you think that was just a frivolous request? No…I'm sorry to say, it wasn't. The Elder Wand will only obey me once I've won it from its master. And since you killed Dumbledore, that would be you. You have served me well."

Voldemort whirled on him, and Jack felt as if he'd been hit by a baseball bat. A hot gush of arterial blood poured down his chest, and he fell to his knees, then onto his back. Voldemort took his time walking back to the house. Just as Jack was about to lose consciousness, he caught sight of a black shape moving towards him through the grass. _As if this couldn't suck any more_, he thought, as he bled out.

Voldemort settled back down into his chair in the library, as if nothing had happened. Draco tried to pretend that he hadn't watched from the window, but he felt another fainting spell coming on, and grabbed onto the back of an armchair for support. "You should be pleased, Draco. You'll be seeing your father soon enough."

"My L-lord, you mean…"

"We're going to break them out. All of the Death Eaters must be gathered into an army."

Bellatrix had been hovering by the window, savoring the view of Snape's corpse, but at this announcement she turned toward her Dark Lord and grinned maniacally, displaying her cracked teeth. "And then what, my Lord?"

Voldemort laughed. "And then, we take the Ministry. And then, Hogwarts."

Bellatrix shrieked with demented glee. The sound made Draco shudder.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

The Doctor, M, Rory, and Amy sat on the lawn near the main gates of Hogwarts, waiting for Jack to return. They'd started off pacing, nervous and attentive, but after an hour grew bored despite their best intentions. Rory and Amy perused a magical history book, and the Doctor put the Sorting Hat back on. "What is that, anyway?" asked M, raising an eyebrow.

The Doctor explained what he'd learned of the Hogwarts houses, with a mixture of excitement and disapproval. M frowned. "If you think the houses are a bad idea, why do you want to know?"

"I just do. Can't help it. It's supposed to talk…but it hasn't said anything in ages. Hello, Mr Sorting Hat, _helloooo_?"

"Hello again, eccentric friend," grumbled the hat.

"Oh! Have you finally figured me out?"

"You're quite the dodgy one to sort, yet I can finally report, there is a house where you belong, but listen closely to my song-"

Jack materialized a few meters away, in a supine position. Nagini was coiled tightly around him, fangs sunk into his throat. "_Stay dead this time, stupid mammal_," she hissed, then lifted her head and noticed the others.

There was a moment of total silence, then a collective screaming of expletives. Nagini unwound herself from Jack's body and coiled up in a defensive posture, ready to strike. When nobody made a move towards her, she turned and began to glide towards the Forbidden Forest. "It's a horcrux…we can't let it get away," Rory said.

The Doctor gulped and ran after Nagini, shouting in snake, "Hey, hold on!"

She whipped around and struck at him. He barely avoided the fangs, but was knocked down. In an instant, he was being crushed in her powerful coils, and would've been bitten had M not rushed over and grabbed the serpent's head from behind. She writhed back and forth, trying to free herself. "_Let go!_" hissed M, kicking at her in vain.

The others dashed over to help, everyone prying at the snake, to no avail. The Doctor's face began to turn blue, and there was a sudden, sickening crunch of bone. If he'd had any air left in his lungs, the scream would've been blood-curdling. Amy looked around frantically for a weapon, and her eyes were drawn to something shiny inside the Sorting Hat, which had fallen to the ground. She reached in, withdrew a sword, and without hesitation swung it full force at the creature's neck, severing it neatly. Nagini's body twitched for several seconds, then finally went slack. The Doctor drew a heaving breath, and screamed in pain. M ripped the Doctor's shirt open, revealing a football-sized bruise on his ribcage. Amy turned to run to the castle, but saw three figures bolting towards them. "Help's on the way."

The Doctor could only grit his teeth in pain. His breaths were very shallow now. M grabbed the sonic screwdriver out of the Doctor's pocket and ran it over his torso. "Six broken ribs and the lung is punctured. I don't know if the sonic can fix it."

Rory moved in to help. "I'm a nurse."

M made room for him. Rory put his ear to the Doctor's chest and listened. Harry, Hermione, and Ron arrived a moment later. Rory said, "Get out your wands," and proceeded to talk them through a series of healing spells.

"Where'd you learn these?" asked Harry, while casting.

"I read a lot, you know that. _Shh_, focus."

Hermione was providing the most effective spellwork of the three. "It's a flick _then_ an anticlockwise circle, Ron," she said.

"Thanks, 'Mione."

"Doctor, is it getting easier to breathe?" asked Rory.

The Time Lord nodded, though his expression was still pained. "Thanks…everyone. Amy…" he wheezed.

She knelt beside him, eyes shining with anxious tears. "Yes?"

"You're…awesome. Where'd you…get that…sword?"

"It was in the hat. I thought Dumbledore put it behind his desk."

"It's the Sword of Gryffindor. It appears only to Gryffindors in need of it," said Harry.

"Oh…that _is_ awesome," said Amy, smiling.

The combination of magic and the sonic soon healed the worst of the damage, and the deep bruise began to fade. Everyone sat back and sighed with relief, then jumped when Jack said, "Sorry it took so long."

He was standing behind them, quite alive and looking like himself again. "That snake kept killing me and trying to eat me," he continued. "I tried to get into the red TARDIS, but couldn't get through this, like, invisible barrier. Everything else went according to plan."

"Good job," said the Doctor, standing up very slowly, as if not fully trusting his body.

It had been a long time since he'd been so badly injured. For a fleeting moment he supposed that he really was getting old, but instead he decided it was because the snake was magical. He took a tentative step and winced. M reached out to support him. _He really has changed_, thought Jack, happily.

"Harry showed me the scroll. How long have you suspected that he is a horcrux?" demanded Snape, pacing in front of the stone fireplace in his dungeon study, while Dumbledore sat primly on the couch.

"I was never sure of it, but I suppose I've always had the suspicion that when Voldemort cursed him as a baby, he inadvertently made him into a horcrux. Voldemort still isn't aware of it, and that fact will contribute to his undoing," said Dumbledore.

"Only if Harry _dies!_ This is why you didn't tell me about the horcruxes, isn't it? You've kept him alive all these years, knowing he would have to be sacrificed!"

Snape would've looked more imposing while he stalked back and forth and ranted, had he not still been wearing Dumbledore's robes. His face went completely red as he continued shouting, "And I _helped_ you protect him, under false pretenses. You…you're shaming Lily's memory!"

"Severus, please calm down. Harry will not die."

"_You didn't know that!_ Until the…_spaceman_ showed up and brought news from the future!"

"Severus, please. Please sit."

Snape stopped pacing and took a seat in an armchair across from Dumbledore. "Were you ever going to tell him?" he asked, in a much quieter tone.

"You have quite a lot of concern for Harry's well being. I was under the impression that you didn't care for him very much, if at all."

"Don't do that."

"Do what? Make you admit you have a heart?"

Snape glared at him, face red again, this time with a different emotion. "Don't make this about me. It's about Harry."

"Listen. Even if Voldemort uses the Killing Curse on him again, it won't work, because he used Harry's blood to resurrect himself. Don't you see…Lily's blood protection lives on in Voldemort. Harry _cannot_ be killed by him. Harry will be _all right_. Now, although you don't look half bad in a color other than black, you're also looking more than a bit harrowed. Calming draught? Lemon drop?"

Snape rested his face in his hands and said, "Yes to the potion, not that awful sweet. You are the only person in the Wizarding World who likes those."

Dumbledore retrieved the draught, but the cup slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor, as pain shot up his arm from his damaged hand. Snape quickly rummaged through his potions cabinet for the elixir he'd brewed especially to help stave off the progressive curse. He put a few drops of the liquid on Dumbledore's wrist, and gently rubbed it in, making sure it formed a complete barrier around his arm. "You would be an excellent father," Dumbledore said.

Snape didn't know how to react to that, so he ignored it. "How does your hand feel?"

"Better, thank you. I wonder if some of the pain is psychological in nature. I'd expected to have moved on by now, after all."

"I think we could both use a calming draught."

Everyone was in uncharacteristically high spirits that evening. They dined all together in the Great Hall, at the professors' table. House elves made them a meal that was a little too elaborate, probably because Kreacher was now among them and he wanted to demonstrate his gratitude to Harry. And to think, he'd been planning on giving the boy a box of maggots for his birthday!

For a while, Harry forgot about Voldemort and just enjoyed being with friends. Once they retired to the Gryffindor common room, however, an unfamiliar sort of anxiety began to creep over him, and he took out the scroll and re-read certain parts of it. Ron got sleepy and went to bed, while Hermione stayed and read a book. Harry sat for a long while in silence, the bad feeling growing until he couldn't stand it any longer. "Hermione, I need your help. Can I talk something through with you?"

She looked up at him, noticed his peculiar expression, and immediately closed her book. "Of course."

Harry swallowed, and tried to gather his thoughts. He'd never been very good at expressing himself with words, but he knew if anyone could understand him, it was Hermione. "I've been reading this part about after I died, when I was in the place that looked like a train station and talked to Dumbledore. There was this…that thing I wrote about…a baby thing, but not a baby. What was left of Tom Riddle's soul. All bleeding and miserable."

Hermione remembered the disturbing description. She nodded encouragingly. Harry rubbed his neck and continued, "Dumbledore told me not to pay attention to it. It says here in the scroll…he told me that his soul was too damaged to move on from that place…it would be there forever, skinned alive like that…and there was no point pitying it because it wasn't my problem…there was nothing anyone could do to help. But now that I know what's going to happen, is that still true? Is it still not my problem? Because I feel like it is."

Hermione crossed to the couch and sat beside him. "Some people are truly beyond help, Harry."

"But how do we _know_ when to give up? I mean, look at the Doctor and the Master. The Doctor used to think the Master was beyond help, but I don't think he ever really gave up…because, _look_. He finally found a way."

"You want to help the person who murdered your parents, among his many victims?" asked Hermione, very gently.

Harry hung his head. "I know I shouldn't, and it doesn't make sense or anything, but yes, I do. I know he wants to kill me but I also know he _can't_, and if he keeps attacking he'll just end up killing himself, and dooming his soul to that horrible existence forever. _Forever,_ Hermione. How can I fight him, knowing that? I don't see how it's all right that I let it happen like that."

"But, what's the alternative?"

"Refuse to fight him, and somehow convince him that he has to feel remorse if he wants to avoid that fate. I know that's not likely to work, but there's a chance, isn't there?"

"I don't know that there is."

"I understand why you don't want to encourage me. I really do. But I can't just let this go. I need to think of something. If I just catch him, and the Ministry doesn't have him executed…he'll just go to Azkaban or somewhere like it. They'll have to get rid of the Dementors, obviously, and keep him guarded. He'll just live out his days in a cell, if he survives the torture. And when he dies he'll still end up as that suffering thing I saw, if he can't be helped or shown how to help himself."

"You really think he'd be tortured? Maybe they'll just keep him in isolation."

"Of course they'll torture him. But besides…keeping people locked in tiny rooms, in isolation, _is_ torture…on par with Cruciatus. _I know, _because I've felt both. I spent lots of my childhood locked in a cupboard and half-starved, remember?"

Hermione's eyes widened. She knew Harry had been mistreated at the Dursley's, but it was difficult to fully comprehend the impact of abuse she hadn't experienced first-hand. "Yes, I remember. I'm sorry for saying something so insensitive."

"No, _that's_ the point…people don't _realize_ how easy it is to break someone, to make them so pathetic and ashamed they feel sub-human, when really, the shame is on those who cause the suffering. There is never a good reason to treat people so badly."

"There are people in prison who have done horrible things. Society has to be protected from them."

"Yes, but just because their behavior disgusts us doesn't mean their lives should be torture, day in and out, with no chance and no hope for anything good to ever happen. People who do terrible things, people like Voldemort…they must be insane, right? Is it their _fault_ they're mentally ill? How can we blame people for being ill, and then not even try to help them? We need to work through the disgust, and see human beings instead of monsters, but instead we lock them up and tell ourselves that they'll suffer remorse for their crimes…but do they feel remorse, or just the suffering? If we're inflicting pain because it makes us feel better, we're just as guilty. And some of them _are_ innocent. Like Sirius."

"Voldemort is not innocent."

"I know! I know I'm weak for feeling this way."

"Not wanting him dead or suffering doesn't mean you're weak."

"It's more than that. I want to forgive him." Harry covered his face, unable to stop the tears that fell suddenly from his eyes onto the unfurled pages of the scroll, making the ink bleed. Hermione put her arm around him. "What would my parents say?" he asked desperately.

"I'm sure they'd be proud that their son is capable of such compassion, and didn't spend his life consumed by hate."

"What am I going to do? Everyone's expecting me to kill him."

"Forget everybody and their expectations. What do _you_ want to do?"

He looked up at her, green eyes made even more vivid by the glaze of tears. "I want to make him sane. Like what was done for M."

"That was a specific memory charm. Tom Riddle may have been born a psychopath. But…I suppose there _is_ a chance he could've turned out differently. There's no way to know, except…"

Hermione trailed off, remembering what Ginny had said the day they'd met the Doctor: _Can't you just go back and kill Tom Riddle as a child, so he never grows up into that monster?_ Nobody had discussed going back and helping him, she realized with a pang. Maybe Harry was right about people being more inclined to be cruel than kind toward those they viewed as disgusting. She continued, "Instead of trying to fix him in the present, you could go back in time and find out where things went wrong in the first place."

Harry was lost for words as he let this idea sink in. Hermione added, "I mean, I have no idea if it's possible. When we used the Time Turner, we couldn't change anything. The TARDIS is different, though…it seems to rewrite time. It's beyond me, Harry. You've got to talk to the Doctor."

"Do you think it's a good idea? Tell me, honestly…do you think I've gone mad?"

"You haven't. I understand why you want to do this, even if I can't completely relate. Altering Tom Riddle's past could change your life the most out of all of us, so if you think it's the right thing to do, then I'm with you all the way."

He hugged her and thanked her. "Don't tell Ron. _You_ might understand, but he'll think I've gone totally mental."

"All right, but don't get too worked up about this. If it isn't possible or doesn't work…we'll need to think of something else. Hmmm…I wonder if there's a spell to make someone feel empathy. Maybe we could adapt some love spells. Excuse me, I'm just going to have a look in the library."

Harry watched her leave, clearly already deep in thought, and was reminded yet again why she was his best mate. He looked down at the scroll in his lap, and saw that his tears had fallen on the words 'Voldemort' and 'soul', turning them into amorphous, inky blobs that stared out from the page like dark eyes. _I should've paid more attention in Divination_, he thought, then went to find the Doctor.

Harry reached the gate and panicked for a moment when he couldn't find the TARDIS, but then it materialized before his eyes, making that odd, wheezing noise, and the Doctor and M emerged, laughing and speaking in a language so alien, Harry could only compare it to the sound of scrolling quickly through radio stations. They caught sight of him and abruptly stopped talking, as if they'd been doing something slightly naughty. "How long have you been gone? A month?" he asked, smiling.

"Did we mess up? We meant to come back straight away," said the Doctor.

"You did…it's only been about an hour since I last saw you."

"Then how'd you know?"

Harry turned towards M and said, "You've gained about a stone and a half, I reckon."

The Doctor looked M up and down, as if seeing him for the first time, and prodded at his body in various places. "Has he? Where's it gone?"

M –who had put the weight on very evenly, in a healthy manner– was quite embarrassed by now. "Anyway," said Harry. "You're both looking well. Good trip, I take it?"

"Your universe is beautiful," said M.

"He likes all the boring bits, like violet sand beaches and virgin forest meadows, mile-high waterfalls, windless deserts full of delicate crystalline organisms, and tea houses in the mountains where nobody _ever_ talks," the Doctor volunteered.

M sighed. "And he prefers anything that's even vaguely dangerous, already exploding, or likely about to explode."

"How have you been, Harry?"

"Um…well, within the last hour I've had this idea…err, well, Hermione had it…it's got to do with Voldemort. Is it possible to go back in time and do something for him when he was a child, to change him for the better as an adult?"

The Doctor beamed. "That's my favorite Christmas tradition!"

"Can Christmas happen in July this year?"

Harry asked the question lightly, but the Doctor could tell he was more distressed than he was letting on. "Want to talk about this inside Hogwarts?"

"You know I don't like secrets, but I think it's best we keep it just between us for now. I'm not sure how the others will take the idea, and I'd rather not start any more shouting matches for a while."

The three entered the TARDIS, and Harry explained his thoughts and concerns. Though the Doctor's attention span was usually short, there was something riveting about Harry. Like the Doctor, Harry had a tragic past, had seen his fair share of adventure, and was famous for his epic deeds, yet unlike the Doctor, he didn't seem to feel that any of his experiences were worth bragging about. It wasn't that he had low self-esteem. If anything, it was the opposite: he had confidence that he was a good person, that the events of his life did not tarnish him, a solid sense of dignity that the Doctor lacked and sought to cover up with his happy-go-lucky persona. Harry was gracious, whereas the Doctor was grandiose. Harry was genuine, without the need or the desire to pretend to be anyone except himself. The Doctor was a man of many faces, repressing parts of his personality whenever it suited him to do so. The Time Lord was a little envious of the young wizard, but he was also inspired, and knew he would do what he could to help. "What you are talking about is entirely possible, however, if you alter the past, you will most likely be creating fixed points. There won't be any _do overs_. The changes will ripple through to the present, rewriting this timeline or splitting off into a parallel universe. It's impossible to predict what will happen. Even if Tom Riddle doesn't become Voldemort, someone else might…someone who nobody has the power to stop. As things are right now, you can defeat him easily and go on with your life. You may not want to give up that chance."

Harry took a deep breath and said, "Yes, I do. And I'm not just doing it for him…I'm doing it for me. I won't be able to live with myself if I go ahead with the plan as is."

"Then we'd best start planning something else. Just one question…why do you care so much about what happens to his soul?"

"He and I are connected on many levels. I know I should want revenge for what he did to my parents, and for a long time I did…I _really_ did…and Dumbledore tried very hard to convince me there was no other option but to fight him to the death…but now I see there's nothing I could do to him that's worse than what he's already done to himself. He has damned himself, Doctor, and doesn't even realize it. Dumbledore said he's damaged his soul so much he may not be capable of remorse…but because he's got my blood in his veins, if he could regret what he's done and feel the guilt of hurting so many people, then he could heal more deeply than anyone believes possible. I'm his only chance. That's why it matters to me."

Harry had been looking at the floor while he spoke, because such things weren't easy to say. When he looked up, the Doctor was studying him curiously. A few feet behind, M was silently weeping. Harry immediately went over to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

"No, Harry. I'm not upset. I'm grateful," M said quietly, glancing at the Doctor, who was looking a little puzzled.

"I thought the crying was done with," said the Doctor, quite coldly, Harry thought.

M hurriedly wiped his tears, face turning pink. "Yes, it is. Sorry."

"Why are you sorry? What's wrong with crying?" asked Harry.

M looked frightened. He couldn't come up with an answer. Harry turned to the Doctor and restated the question, "Why make M ashamed of crying?"

"I want him to be happy."

"You want him to _act_ happy."

M darted away into a dark hallway of the TARDIS, apparently unable to face this conversation. The Doctor moved to follow him, but Harry grabbed his arm and gently but firmly pulled him back. "Doctor, what's going on?"

"I knew it would take a while for him to feel better, but I figured once we started adventuring, it would be a welcome distraction. It hasn't been. He _keeps crying_. I know impatience is a problem of mine. I have no intention of giving up, but I don't know what I'm doing wrong."

"Maybe you're not doing anything wrong. Maybe you just have to endure the crying, for as long as it takes."

"But I don't want him to feel bad anymore. He could just move on, but he won't. Why dwell on the past?"

"I take it you don't do that, much."

The Doctor fell silent, caught. Harry continued, "Some people need to reopen a wound over and over, in order to heal from it. Though, it just occurred to me that there's a simpler explanation. You said he likes quiet activities. He said you prefer loud ones. Maybe he's stressed out by your choice of adventure, but is too afraid to tell you."

"You think that's it?"

"Ask him, _nicely_. And for Merlin's sake, don't tell him not to cry, even if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a genius?"

Harry laughed. "I've been called many things, but not that."

"When this is over we could take a spin in the TARDIS. Y'know, check out somewhere completely different. If you'd like."

"Thanks for the offer, but when this is over, I think I'll have had enough adventuring for one lifetime."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

At the first light of morning, Voldemort began to worry about his snake. It was Nagini's routine to go hunting in the woods at night, but she always returned to her master by dawn. As the day progressed and she failed to appear, he had to conclude that something unfortunate had befallen her. Had Snape poisoned her, in a last act of revenge? To be fair, she _had _been about to eat him at the time.

Voldemort was more upset by Nagini's loss than he would've expected. She was faithful and she never complained or questioned his orders. Even Bellatrix second-guessed him every now and then, and she was his most trusted Death Eater. Voldemort was sad that he might never see Nagini again, and he supposed that was a sensation similar to love, but he wasn't sure. He was certain, however, that losing a part of his soul was far worse than losing his reptilian friend. That made him very angry indeed.

As night approached, he and Bellatrix flew to Azkaban. It was pathetically easy to coax the Dementors into letting them blow a hole through the wall. All of the freed prisoners accompanied them back to Malfoy Manor, where a filthy, emaciated, and shaken Lucius Malfoy was reunited with his family. They were ecstatic to be together again, even if their home had become a boarding house for Death Eaters.

Snape was in the middle of giving Harry a dueling lesson, when the pain of being summoned seared into his left forearm. He sat on the raised platform and waited it out. Harry crouched down beside him and asked, "Worse than usual, Professor?"

"Three in a row means: we're going to war. He's signaling to those in Azkaban. The breakout must be in progress."

"Rufus Scrimgeour's only been Minister of Magic for two weeks, and all he's done is release propaganda that we're all safe, and that I'm working for them. He'll cover up the escape, for sure. We know from the scroll that Voldemort will proceed to infiltrate the Ministry, and torture him for my location. We should send a warning, even though it'll probably be ignored."

He took a deep breath, trying to quell his agitation. "Are you looking forward to your party tomorrow?" asked Snape.

Harry was surprised by the question. It was so unlike what he was used to from the man. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"May I give you your present now?"

"Okay," he answered, before he'd really processed what Snape had said.

Severus crossed to where he'd placed his folded robe and jacket. They'd been dueling fairly rigorously, and Snape had stripped down to a black, long-sleeved, crew neck shirt that struck Harry as very un-wizardly. He looked much less imposing in Muggle clothes, more like a bloke Harry could relate to. He was in good shape, not muscular but not scrawny either, with a sinewy grace that was more noticeable now that he wasn't hiding under so many layers of heavy fabric. _If only he'd wash his hair, he could be handsome_, Harry thought.

Snape took a parcel from his jacket pocket and returned to Harry. It was wrapped in green paper, and Snape handed it over nervously. Not wanting to draw out the awkward moment any longer than necessary, Harry gingerly tore off the paper to reveal a shallow black lacquer box. He opened it, realized that it was an antique picture frame, and that his mother was looking back at him. Harry froze, examining every nuance of the photo. Lily was standing in a field, a Herbology greenhouse visible in the distance. She was in a long, loose, white dress, which was moving just slightly in the breeze, along with her masses of fiery hair. She wore a garland of daisies like a crown, and was holding another garland out to the picture taker, smiling a bit mischievously. It was a candid moment, but a magical one: the sky was the moody blue-gray of early evening, and the sun's last light made her green eyes shine like emeralds. "She's sixteen," Snape said quietly.

Harry looked at him, and was again surprised, this time by his fearful expression, as if he were about to be hit by the Killing Curse. Severus knew his social skills were far from well developed, and he wasn't sure if the gift was even vaguely appropriate, but he'd figured that Harry ought to have it. It was something that mattered to him quite a lot…in fact, it was his prize possession, other than the form of his Patronus. He'd taken the photo only weeks before his friendship with Lily had collapsed. "Thank you," said Harry, studying the picture again. Then he quietly added, "She wanted you to wear the other garland."

Snape smiled. "Yeah, she did. Imagine if James and Sirius found me like that."

"You didn't do it?"

He shook his head, still smiling wistfully. "I couldn't."

Harry didn't feel like dueling anymore, so he went for a walk alone, and found himself drawn to the spot where the photo had been taken, where he gazed at the picture once more. When it was unfolded, the frame made a diptych: the right side held his mother's image, the left was blank except for a beautiful painting of a lone white lily, fragile against the black background. He was sure that Snape had painted it himself. Harry noticed a small groove in the panel, and pried at it gently with his bitten thumbnail until it opened, revealing an assortment of papers within. They turned out to be letters, written by his mother to Severus during the summer holidays when he was at Spinner's End. The contents were light-hearted and playful, a bit flirtatious, and a little silly, considering that Lily was spending her summers just across the woods at her family home. One letter began: "So, I know I just saw you five minutes ago, but when I got home my room was infested with Nargles, and you're the only one I trust to get them out." Another stated: "Confunded Petunia and she got nice for a while. Thought you'd like that, but don't get any Ideas." One had a slightly different tone. "Sev. You have to stop being an arsehole to my sister. You're my best friend, but honestly. She's my blood. You may as well have flung those thorns at me. I guess I forgive you though. xoxo, L." There were also a few imaginary maps and some drawings, including a pen-and-ink of a sulking young Snape.

It was odd imagining his mother at sixteen, but it was a good kind of odd, like they might've been friends. Harry realized suddenly that he could go back and hang out with his parents, using the TARDIS. But what would he say? Would he warn them? Would they listen? No…as much as he wanted to see them, he had to focus on Voldemort. If he could help Tom Riddle, everything else would fall into place with a little luck.

As Harry put the letters back into the box, he saw a tiny envelope at the very bottom. Inside was a delicately braided piece of bright red hair, and a note that simply said: "I'm sorry." Had Severus or Lily written this, and when, and for whom? If it was his mum, he wondered what she had to be sorry for. _Maybe he'd asked for a lock of her hair and she'd refused, thinking it too romantic or weird or something, and then regretted her decision later. _If Snape had written it to Lily back then, or to Harry to be found today, well, he could think of many reasons, but he hoped it was the final apology, because Harry wanted him to feel that he could finally let it go. This item had clearly been important to him, and giving it to Harry was a sign that he didn't need to hold on to grief anymore.

Harry also considered that the braid and the message had nothing to do with each other, despite being in the same envelope: just another mystery that he would never fully understand and didn't really want explained anyway. He put the note back with the others and closed the picture frame, willing to let it rest. He stretched out on his back on the grass and stayed there for a long while, feeling very calm and peaceful, watching dragonflies zigzag across the darkening sky.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Harry felt strange having a secret, and it wasn't necessarily a bad feeling. He began to notice the ugly twist people's features took when they talked about Voldemort. Yes, he was an evil tyrant, but he was also so absurd, couldn't they see that?

Everything seemed absurd, he realized, looking around the Burrow at his friends. It was absurd that they wanted Voldemort dead but were also such nice people. It was absurd, absurdly tragic, that a place like Azkaban existed, while they sat here eating cake. It was absurd that he was the Chosen One, the person everyone was banking on to Save the World with one more act of heroic violence (absurd that violence was ever heroic)…and here he was, secretly planning on being nice to the maniac instead. But the pinnacle of absurdity was that a stranger had come out of the sky and shifted Harry's entire world in a matter of days.

He caught himself staring at the Doctor, trying to imagine this present without him, and found it impossible to will himself back into a mindset where he dutifully accepted his destiny just because he couldn't see any other choice. _There are always other choices, _he thought.

It was the best birthday he'd ever had, even though he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or cry half the time. The twins were in top comedic form. Hermione and Ron were getting along. Even Fleur was tolerable. Ginny looked especially beautiful, and after everyone else had gone to bed she and Harry snogged for hours in the larder, until their lips were pleasantly sore. Loving her was so easy, and he knew she loved him, had always loved him. Those were the last words he thought as he drifted off to sleep, and he repeated them over and over: _you are loved._

The next day, Professor McGonagall arrived at Hogwarts to take over the position of Headmaster and make arrangements for Dumbledore's fake death announcement and fake funeral. Harry half-wondered if the flowers would be fake, too, and the marble slab just a prop made of polystyrene foam.

He paced the halls, restless now that all he had to do was wait. He watched Amy and Rory practicing remedial magic with borrowed wands, but that got boring very quickly. He tried to hurt about Sirius' death for a while, and make himself ashamed that he hadn't thought about him much lately, but that quickly grew tiresome as well. It wasn't that he didn't feel the loss, but if he were possibly about to rewrite time and prevent his godfather's death, what was the point of mourning? He walked in on Hermione and Ron kissing on the couch in the Gryffindor common room. They were flustered, but Harry couldn't be bothered to get embarrassed. He went in search of the Doctor, and found him, Jack, and M in the owlry. The Time Lords were talking to the owls, then translating for Jack. Apparently, it was a funny game of avian, alien, human telephone, because they were all laughing uproariously, even the owls were hooting. "Harry!" cried the Doctor, catching sight of the shaggy-haired young man. "Hedwig is brilliant!"

Harry found his owl and stroked her snowy white wings, thinking about her dying so pointlessly during the Battle of the Seven Potters. He was starting to see how knowledge of the future could really drive you mad. The Doctor's false cheer was making more and more sense to him.

Jack and M began discussing an alien world with an ocean that was actually a liquid crystal entity with psychic powers. The Doctor rolled his eyes and strode over to Harry. "They've been talking about Lanimaperta for _hours_," he quietly whined.

"Yeah, I'm beginning to see what you mean about time travel and impatience. I know we said we'd wait for Voldemort to come here on his own schedule, because it would make him feel in control and give us the best chance of blind-siding him, but I really don't want to wait."

"That's cool. I've talked with Snape about retrieving the red TARDIS. He said he can undo the protective spells –with the use of your invisibility cloak, that is– and then I'll activate the homing beacon. How soon do you want to do this?"

"I need to find out how long it will take to set up the spells I need. Of course, I'll have to tell everyone at least part of the plan, so they'll help."

Harry thought he ought to feel more guilty about deceiving Dumbledore, but the man had tried to make him into a killer, and that wasn't sitting well with Harry. Though his life was far from normal, he knew that sixteen year old boys shouldn't have to participate in fights to the death. _Nobody_ should, but especially not children.

They all gathered in the dungeon, where Dumbledore and Snape had sequestered themselves, just in case the Dark Lord had any spies around Hogwarts' grounds. Harry explained that he wanted to lure Voldemort to the Forbidden Forest and face off with him, one-on-one, as soon as possible. He said he'd accepted his destiny and was ready to fulfill it, so why should he wait and allow more people to die? Nobody had a good counter-argument to this logic, and it seemed to everyone to be Harry's right to make such a decision. "What about the TARDIS horcrux?" asked Dumbledore.

The Doctor said, "I'll program it to go back where it came from: a time-locked dimension, which is essentially a place that doesn't exist, closed off as it is from all universes…err, as long as we repair the leak. Anyway, there are immense destructive forces within, and I'm certain a horcrux could not survive."

This wasn't exactly true, but the Doctor lies. Harry said, "I want to prepare a trap for Voldemort and I need everyone's help."

They talked it over for some time, and then all the witches and wizards began on the necessary spells, out in the woods, under enchantments that shielded them from view. They worked for hours, completing in time to enjoy a late dinner. Harry ate quickly, thanked everyone, then excused himself. He went back to the owlry, composed a brief letter on Hogwarts school paper, and sealed it in an envelope addressed to 'Lord Voldemort, Malfoy Manor.' Not wanting to endanger Hedwig, he chose a burly Hogwarts owl, affixed the letter securely to its leg and said, "Please drop this on the front steps, without stopping. They won't give you anything nice to eat. Come back and I'll get you three field mice."

The owl shrieked and took off.

Voldemort could hardly believe what he was reading, but the slightly unhinged sincerity of the letter was undeniable. It started abruptly, without even a perfunctory salutation:

"_I'm ready for this to end. If you are, too, then meet me in the Forbidden Forest, a kilometer in if you go due north from Hagrid's shack, tomorrow at 11:30 pm. There is a clearing there where I will be waiting. I want to face you alone, just you and me. I cannot bear to have anyone else get hurt because of me, so please leave them out of it. I'm tired of the pain and the waiting. Come and get me. _

_If you suspect I'm setting a trap with Aurors waiting to arrest you, send someone ahead to check. Though, considering what you did at Azkaban two nights ago, I doubt any prison could hold you. _

_Harry_

_P.S. Here is my blood, to check I really wrote this."_

Voldemort was morbidly impressed by the row of bloody fingerprints at the bottom of the page. The tone of the letter was decidedly depressed, which made sense considering Dumbledore's recent demise, but it had flashes of bravado, and the offer was not unappealing. He had originally planned on killing the boy in front of his Death Eaters, but now he found he quite relished the idea of meeting Harry in the forest, and taking his time in breaking him. Harry didn't say that he wouldn't put up a fight, nor did he ask for mercy for himself, only for his friends, and they were of little consequence to Voldemort, anyway. The Dark Lord smiled. "Oh, Harry…you had me at '_I'm ready_.'"


	25. Chapter 25

[It only took me 'til Chapter 25 to discover the 'insert horizontal line' button. :-/ Please review if you like what you're reading. Please correct me if I've made a mistake. Love you, xxoo, HITW]

Chapter 25

Lucius Malfoy leaned against the shower wall. While in Azkaban, he had literally forgotten what pleasure was, and the heat of the water was a revelation. His mind was still rather numb, not ready to accept the fact that although one nightmare had ended, his problems weren't quite over. Instead, he gazed at the beautiful tile work, in onyx and malachite, that Narcissa had designed for their master bath. _I have a family,_ he reminded himself, as if the memory would fade again if not repeated like a mantra.

As soon as they'd arrived at Malfoy Manor, Narcissa had kindly provided everyone with chocolate. Lucius had consumed his bar in a zombie-like state, staring at his wife and son as if they were strangers. Yet, by the time he'd finished, all of the love he'd lost in Azkaban came flooding back and he held them close, openly weeping with joy and relief. There was indeed a fate worse than death, and it was Azkaban. He'd like to destroy the place. Maybe the Dark Lord would allow it, after his victory. _If he allows me anything_, thought Lucius with a shudder, anticipating further punishment for his failure at the Ministry. He knew he was helpless to prevent it. Fleeing was impossible now. He had to endure whatever Voldemort had in mind for him…and it _must_ be for _him_, not Narcissa or Draco…he had a sudden vision of them being tortured and let out an involuntary sob. "Darling, are you all right? You've been in there for more than an hour," called his wife through the bathroom door.

"Yes," he replied, voice hoarse from a month of screaming.

He turned off the tap, but then proceeded to cast several Scourgify charms on himself, until his skin was red. He stepped out into the bedroom and Narcissa looked a bit shocked, perhaps by how he'd scrubbed himself raw, or by the skinniness of his limbs, or the multitude of wounds he'd inflicted on himself while imprisoned. "D-do you want to rest, dear?"

Lucius shook his head, went to the huge wardrobe, and automatically chose his best, most formal robes. Narcissa didn't question this. She just helped him dress, then very gently said, "You need to know…Draco was ordered to eliminate Dumbledore, but he couldn't do it. Snape did it for him, under the Unbreakable Vow, and was killed by the Dark Lord for ownership of the Elder Wand."

"Did you say…the Elder Wand?"

Narcissa nodded nervously, and then continued, "Severus protected our son, to the death. But…Lucius, while you were away, Draco was given the Dark Mark. Do you think that means he trusts us? Or...?"

"He's mocking us," he said without affect. "Tell me they didn't…initiate him."

She shook her head, and he sighed in relief. He was shaking. "Thank God. All right…all right. We're going to get through this. With Dumbledore gone, nobody stands a chance against the Dark Lord. We're going to get through this…you, me, and Draco. Where is he?"

"Downstairs. There's a meeting in the dining room."

Through the halls of the Manor echoed the crazed laughter of Death Eaters. Reluctant as they were, the Malfoys had no choice but to descend into their midst. Lucius caught sight of his son being slowly circled by Rabastan Lestrange, who had the aspect of a hungry predator. "Ah, nice of you to join us. And dressed for the occasion, Lord Malfoy," said the Dark Lord, and everyone grew silent and still.

"My Lord," said Lucius, bowing.

"That is such a lovely walking stick."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"May I have a closer look?"

Without hesitation, Lucius strode down the long room, and after bowing even deeper, handed Voldemort his black cane with the silver snake's head for a handle. The Dark Lord took it and really did proceed to examine it closely, admiringly. "A beautiful piece of work."

He locked eyes with Lucius for a moment, sighed, then neatly snapped the walking stick in half, including the wand concealed inside. "Unfortunately, you have proven yourself far too incompetent to be allowed the further use of magic in my service."

The room was silent. Lucius took a deep breath and asked, "How am I to serve you, my Lord?"

"Oh, just as a Squib or a house elf might."

There was a roar of laughter at that, from all around the gigantic black table. Lucius glanced at his son and saw him struggling not to cry. _Don't, Draco, don't, please_, he thought. _Don't you see that none of this matters. None of this matters anymore-_

With a jolt, he realized that he believed that, down to the core of his being. Looking around at those who mocked him, he saw them for what they were: cold-blooded opportunists who had never been his friends. There was no love lost between Death Eaters. How could there be, if they continued to follow someone so heartless? Severus was the only one who cared…he cared enough to make an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco…and now he was dead.

Lucius felt his world shift, and he saw what truly mattered. It had nothing to do with status, blood or otherwise, though it had everything to do with family: he would gladly give up all his magic, all his wealth, and all his dignity in order to protect those he loved. "As you wish, my Lord," he said loudly, kneeling fully down before Voldemort's feet and resting his forehead on the floor, not daring to meet those terrible red eyes.

The laughter increased, and Lucius didn't care. He recognized that this was supposed to be his punishment: to be ridiculed by his supposed peers within his ancestral home, to be stripped of the one thing that made him superior to Muggles, and to be shown that he was so unimportant that he wasn't even worth torturing in the manner a loyal Death Eater would expect to be after making an error. The Slytherin part of him screamed that he should feel humiliated, but the man who cowered on the floor knew better than that, and there was no going back.

* * *

"How are you, Doctor Turnipseed?"

"I'm well, but really, M, call me Ashley. How are you?"

M blushed and looked away, up at the cloudy sky, out at the dark lake, then quietly said, "Good, for the most part, I guess. Confused, a lot. And scared, and guilty…but also, I think I've been…having fun."

M said this with such a serious expression that it almost made Ashley laugh. "With the Doctor?" she asked.

"With Jack, too. And the wizards and witches. But mostly the Doctor. We've been on two adventures, just us, each a month long. The first one was really overwhelming…but the second one was much better. I could tell he was slowing down on purpose so I could keep up. But he didn't seem to resent it…I mean, he said he's just used to doing things his way but that doesn't mean it's the way it ought to be. He said, um, let me get this right…he said for most of his life he's been in 'auto-pilot run-around-like-a-madman-mode', and he said he's very happy that I showed him how to shut that off when he wants to, and when I need him to. Do you think he's telling the truth?"

"Has he lied to you about anything else?"

"He said fish fingers and custard is the best. I guess it's not a lie if he believes it. Dunno how anyone could, though."

Ashley did laugh that time. "Has he lied about anything that hurt your feelings or scared you?"

M thought for a while, then smiled. "No."

"Then take him at his word."

He blushed again and started to chew nervously on his thumbnail. "Ashley…there's something I need to ask you. I know I'm supposed to be hundreds of years old, and I do remember all my regenerations, all my experiences…but somehow I _feel_ like everything is happening for the first time. I didn't notice it for a while, with everything else going on…but since the drums stopped I don't feel quite as…clever as I used to, and I'm not sure what I'm feeling a lot of the time, or why. Is it possible your spell set me back to eight years old emotionally and intellectually, but not in terms of memory?"

"It's very possible, but I don't know much about Time Lords. Do you typically mature quickly?"

M laughed. "I don't know if we _ever _mature, but not quickly, no. We're still considered kids at one hundred."

"If I asked you, _are you eight years old_, does that sound right to you?"

He nodded, unable to meet her eyes. "Don't tell the Doctor."

"Okay, but why don't you? It might help him understand."

"He'll treat me differently, I just know it. Besides, he's not _that_ far ahead. I'd guess he's at, like, sixteen or seventeen at the most. I'll catch up soon enough."

_And what will you do when you surpass him?_ M wondered, then quickly countered, _figure that out when it happens. _He frowned slightly, leaned back against a tree, and plucked at a blade of grass. Ashley thought that he certainly didn't look like a child, but then again, he definitely wasn't showing his extreme age, either. She would've placed him in his early twenties. "This is a quite personal question, and you don't have to answer, but do you feel comfortable in your body? Again, I don't know much about Time Lords, but if you feel like you're eight but you've got this older body, I can imagine how that might be strange."

"I'm getting used to it. On second thought, I should tell Jack. It'll probably stop him flirting with me," he said, absentmindedly.

Ashley's eyebrows lifted. "Like I said, I know next to nothing about the Time Lord life cycle, including sexual maturity. But I _do_ know you shouldn't do anything that makes you uncomfortable, or that you aren't ready for. If this Jack bloke is making you feel weird, you must tell him to stop."

She couldn't believe she was attempting to give 'the talk' to an alien who was at least a thousand years her senior. He laughed quietly, and said, "Oh, Jack flirts with everything."

"Do you mean every_one_?"

He sighed and shook his head. Ashley was feeling more and more out of her depths. Then he smiled warmly at her, face open and decidedly boyish. "Ashley, it feels _good_ being young again…or really, being young for the first time, properly. I can't thank you enough. Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I'm curious about something. You said you felt the drums in your chest, that the pain had moved there…"

"Yes. It's not as terrible now."

"That's very good. I'm glad to hear it. Well, if you recall, after you said that, the Doctor said, 'That's just your hearts.' Plural."

"Oh, yeah, two hearts."

"Would you mind if I had a listen?"

M smiled and reclined on the grass. Ashley took a stethoscope out of her bag, slid it gently under his shirt, and her eyes widened in amazement.

* * *

Hermione continued copying down spells and shoving useful books into her extended purse, trying to ignore the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. This wasn't going to be like one of their usual adventures. They were bringing adults, Time Lords, no less, and Doctor Turnipseed had agreed to come along, too. That should've relaxed her, but somehow it only made things feel more frightening.

Was it that, deep down, she thought Harry's plan was a bad idea? She turned this question over for a while, and concluded that looking for a compassionate solution was always a good idea.

Was it the secrecy that bothered her, the fact that Harry insisted on not telling Dumbledore the real plan? She tried to see this as a foolish, but she _knew_ Harry was right. Dumbledore wouldn't understand. That wasn't it.

Was it the risk of failure? Even if they found Tom Riddle to be an irredeemable psychopath, Harry could still defeat him. That wasn't it, either.

Of course, an infinite amount of things could go wrong. Time could be rewritten in unpredictable ways, the Doctor had said. Yet, what harm could be done by being kind to a child in an orphanage? How could their actions possibly make things _worse?_ Well…she did recall (it was impossible for Hermione not to) that Harry said the Doctor said it was possible that an even stronger Dark Lord could emerge in Voldemort's absence, one who wasn't bound by a self-fulfilling prophecy to defeat himself. And _yes,_ that could potentially be worse than the current situation, but how often does a wizard like that come along, realistically? No, that wasn't what was scaring her.

The more she thought about it, or rather, the more she tried not to think about it, the more certain she became that she was terrified by the possibility of succeeding. If they _could_ fix Tom Riddle then they _would, _even if it was harder than they'd ever imagined…even if it took much longer than they'd planned. She knew that Harry would not give up easily, and she knew she would stick by him just like she'd told him she would, until the end. The idea of dedicating part of her life to that cause was sobering, but it didn't upset her nearly as much as the deeper implication of success: if they fixed Tom Riddle, _what reason would they have not to_ continue fixing others?

Hermione knew she was encroaching on God Complex territory with questions like that, which were probably better left to beings like the Time Lords, but it was too late: she'd thought it, couldn't forget it, and would require an explanation in order to attain any semblance of peace. Though she acknowledged this, she also knew it was not yet time to make such a demand, she simply had to wait and see, and so she continued transcribing spells and feeding relevant books into her purse and trying not to panic.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Albus Dumbledore slid the ring off his finger and with one wave of his wand, the stone popped out of the setting. "This was to be a gift to you, after I was gone."

Harry peered at the dark octahedron sitting on the desk. It didn't look like it could resurrect the dead, despite what Rory had told him. "Um, sir…if you give me that, I'll have all three Deathly Hallows. But what does it really _mean_ to be the Master of Death? I don't want to become immortal or anything."

Dumbledore fixed him with a soft blue gaze. "Of course you don't, Harry. You aren't seduced by promises of limitless power and everlasting life. The true Master of Death is one who doesn't fear death."

"It seems perfectly normal to fear death, sir."

"What we fear is not the moment of death itself, but the end of our existence. Those who would seek to avoid this inevitability, through abuse of power, are not fit to unite the Hallows."

Harry frowned at the Resurrection Stone. "Can it really bring people back?"

"What comes back is not a person, only a shade."

"But if these shades exist, doesn't that prove that death isn't as final as we think? They must come from somewhere."

"Perhaps from a plane beyond our own perception. Or perhaps from within the mind."

"Are they conscious? Can they communicate, answer questions?"

The old wizard shrugged. "I do not know, Harry. I am unfit to use the Stone. You may see for yourself, if that is what you wish. All you must do is turn the Stone over three times and hold it in your hand."

Harry lifted it gingerly between thumb and index finger and put it in his pocket, relieved that there was no rush of power like he'd felt while holding the Elder Wand. He certainly didn't need to be tempted, this late in the game. "Thank you, sir. Thank you for everything."

The platitude felt flat even as Harry said it. He had many conflicting feelings about Dumbledore and there was so much he could have said, but words were failing him now, and he was afraid to meet the man's eyes for fear he'd use Legilimency to discover Harry's intentions. Harry was surprised by how scared he felt, not of going through with his idea, but by the thought of keeping it from Dumbledore. In retrospect, he saw how he'd been groomed his entire life to fulfill the prophecy, and could not pinpoint a single decision that had been wholly his own. Things had just happened to him and around him that bore him forward, and he'd never really thought about it until the Doctor showed up. The Doctor wasn't quite a mentor, but his presence had been illuminating, showing Harry that he had at least some say in his destiny. Harry had the uneasy thought that if he asked for Dumbledore's permission now, he would never be able to make a decision for himself; he would never be able to grow up. "I don't know what else to say, sir, except thank you."

"That's quite all right, Harry. Thank you, too. You are so uncommonly brave. Infinite points to Gryffindor."

Harry laughed. "I'll see you soon, sir," he said, and turned to leave.

* * *

"It is done," said Snape, holding out the folded Invisibility Cloak for Harry to take.

"Thank you, Professor. I hope it wasn't too much trouble."

Snape shook his head. It had only taken an hour to remove the wards surrounding the red TARDIS. He was glad that Voldemort had ordered him to Disillusion the time machine; it would take some time to notice the absence of an invisible object. "Harry, are you sure you want to do this?"

"Voldemort must be stopped. I have to kill him. It's all right."

"It _isn't_ all right, and you don't _have to_."

Harry looked him in the eyes directly, for the briefest moment. Though he trusted Snape not to read his thoughts, he suddenly didn't trust himself not to blurt it all out. "What do you mean?"

"There's another way. After he casts the Killing Curse on you…" Snape paused and swallowed, trying to rid his throat of an unfamiliar lump, then continued, "And after the time machine is destroyed, he will be mortal. I have a rifle, and I'm a very good shot."

Harry's eyes widened. "You want to kill him _muggle style_?"

"I've often wondered why firearms are conspicuously absent from the Wizarding World. A bullet travels faster than the Killing Curse. I've timed it. I've" –Snape's voice faltered as he noticed Harry's frightened expression— "had a lot of time on my hands."

"Don't do it. Please, don't. Stay in the dungeons with Dumbledore, like we planned."

"But, Harry-"

"If you do it, I'll never forgive you."

Snape eyed Harry intently, not quite expecting an explanation, but keen to receive one if one was forthcoming. After a heavy silence, Harry said, "_I _need to do it."

"Just because the prophecy-"

"For my parents."

Severus nodded then, once, and let his head hang slightly. "I'll be back by midnight," Harry said, walking to the door.

"You won't be the same," Snape said, with mournful certainty.

"I know, Severus."

There was a sidelong flash of green eyes. Then the Boy Who Lived was gone.

* * *

The forest floor was thick with moss and Harry's feet barely made a sound. The trees were in full leaf, creating a canopy so dense that starlight struggled to penetrate the gloom. Harry took his time in reaching the clearing he'd chosen, enjoying the darkness and the sounds that should have scared him, savouring the smell of the warm summer air, laced with the perfume of evergreens and the sweet decay of earth. A thin crescent moon shone down into the ring of trees, creating a circle of silver-blue light. Harry walked to the center of the clearing, removed his Cloak of Invisibility, and sat down. His watch read 11:11. He was calmer than he knew he had any right to be.

Voldemort did indeed send one of his Death Eaters ahead to check, and the man reported back nothing remarkable about that particular patch of woods, and no Aurors lying in wait. Voldemort knew of spells that only activated under certain set conditions, but he couldn't imagine a scenario wherein he could be overpowered, especially not with the Elder Wand in his possession. He let Harry wait until 11:45.

Harry leapt to his feet as the Dark Lord Apparated less than ten paces away, and stared in shock at Voldemort's deathly countenance, which was even more extreme than the last time they'd met. _What have you done to yourself?_ he thought. "You're late," he said.

Voldemort blinked, laughed, and drew the Elder Wand, holding it like a conductor's baton. Harry did his best to look suitably terrified. "Well, Harry?" said the high, cold voice. "Will you resist me?"

Harry shook his head. Voldemort frowned. "That's too bad. Maybe a little incentive. _Crucio."_

Harry saw the curse hit his chest, but felt nothing. Nonetheless, he collapsed to the ground and began writhing and crying out as realistically as he could. It helped his act that he still harboured a lot of anger against the man who was trying to torture him, and now had a very solid excuse to scream at the top of his lungs. When Voldemort moved his wand away, Harry fell silent, but continued to breathe heavily for effect.

By the fifth curse, he was really getting into it, mixing in crazed laughter with the screams, and letting spill whatever filthy language came to mind. It was strangely liberating, almost cathartic, to lose control like that. When Voldemort twitched the wand away again, Harry heaved himself to his hands and knees and crawled towards him, pleading in the most broken tones he could manage, "Please, kill me…_please_, my life is yours, just take it. Take it."

Voldemort stared at him, then slowly crouched down and pushed Harry into a seated position, then onto his back. The Dark Lord pinned him down, and though his body was skeletal it had an awful weight to it and covered Harry's completely. It became very difficult to breathe, and Harry really did start to panic, with Voldemort's face so close, and the pressure getting heavier and heavier by the moment. Soon there was no air left in his lungs, and he couldn't draw another breath. He began to writhe and twitch in earnest, then, no longer pretending. "This is your death," said Voldemort softly, matter-of-factly.

He raised his wand, with agonizing leisure, to rest the tip directly over Harry's heart. The boy's hands clutched and yanked at the Dark Lord's cloak, desperately trying to push him off, to no avail. Voldemort waited until the limbs began to slacken, and the light began to fade from the tear-filled green eyes. Only then did he finally say the words, with quiet reverence, "Avada Kedavra."


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Harry expected it to look like King's Cross railway station, and it did. He didn't expect to see a train and his parents standing beside it, but there they were: the train and the young couple waiting patiently, half-obscured by the hazy air, which was softly lit by some unseen source. Harry took one step forward and froze, worried that if he got closer and saw them clearly he wouldn't be able to turn away…he would get on the train, and he knew what that meant.

A whimper drew his attention. It came from the floor to his left. He didn't want to, but he forced himself to kneel down and look at the remnant of Tom Riddle's soul. Seeing it first hand was much worse than reading the description in the scroll. He felt the disgust, thick and stifling, and then the pity, which won out. Harry looked at his parents, who hadn't moved, and asked, "Do you see this? Do you know what it is?"

He saw his mother nod, though he couldn't discern her expression. His heart was pounding, which struck him as odd…why did he still feel like he had a body? "Oh, right, I'm not really dead," he said.

"We know, son. We know you must go back. Your mother and I just wanted to see you," said James, and Harry felt more than heard the voice.

"But, I want to be with you," he replied, slowly walking towards them despite his best intentions, feeling his resolve crumbling.

"We want to be with you, too, but it's too soon. We'll see you later, Harry. _Much_ later," said Lily.

Just as Harry saw his mother smile, he caught the pathetic cry again, and stopped short. It was behind him now, quieter than before, already easier to ignore. He closed his eyes. "If I said I'm going back to try and help that damaged thing, would you tell me it's not my problem, to let it suffer? Would you tell me that's a suitable fate?"

"Do what you feel is right, Harry," said his father.

"Do what you need to do in order to be happy. That's all we want," said his mother.

Profound relief washed over him. "I love you."

"I love you."

"I love you."

* * *

"That wasn't very nice, Tom."

Harry sat up and rubbed his chest. He parted his robes and pulled the collar of his t-shirt down to see that there was another lightning-bolt shaped scar, red and angry, on the skin over his heart. "Great. Ginny's gonna _looove_ that."

Voldemort was standing absolutely motionless, staring at Harry, wand clutched loosely in his long pale fingers. Harry wanted to laugh, but considering what he was about to reveal, mocking the man would just add unnecessary insult to injury, and Harry wasn't cruel, nor did he want to taunt the man into attacking him. He calmly said, "By now you must know why it didn't work the first time, and why it didn't work now. You must realize that my mother's blood sacrifice has been protecting me all this time."

The Dark Lord cast another _Crucio_. Harry shook his head and sighed. "I'm the master of the Elder Wand. I was faking it earlier. The suffocation was real, though…that _hurt_, but I have to inform you that you can't kill me, even with your bare hands. When you cast A.K. just now –I'm sorry to tell you this…please believe me that I really am sorry– you just killed a part of yourself. I was a horcrux, but I'm not anymore."

Voldemort tried to Apparate, and found that he couldn't leave the clearing. He began to cast the Anti-Disapparation counter-spell, while Harry continued, "You are exceptionally powerful…but, Tom, that wand obeys my will, and my will is for you to stay here, within these wards, for just a little while."

The Dark Lord laughed, and lowered the wand. _It would've been practical to bring another wand_, he thought, as he felt in the sleeve of his robes for the Portkey he'd prepared just in case he were ever caught in a trap such as this. It was a small piece of amber, and just as he was about to slide a finger into the specially designed pocket to touch it, Harry stood up and said, "I want to tell you about the power you know not."

Crimson eyes met green. Harry continued, "When you used my blood to resurrect yourself, you got some of my mother's protection, too. Did you know that while her blood lives on in someone, I can't be killed by you? That is very old magic, according to Dumbledore...the magic of a sacrifice for love. Love is not weakness, Tom…it is more potent than the Killing Curse. If you could feel a little love, some compassion for others…or even for yourself, then things don't have to end badly for you. I've seen your fate if you continue on this path, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. For your own sake, can you try to feel _in your heart_ what you've done, how many people you've hurt? Can you try for a little remorse?"

The Dark Lord sighed and turned away dismissively, facing towards the darkness beyond the clearing. Harry had expected this, still, he pressed on, "The prophecy said that neither of us can live while the other survives. Well I say _to hell with that_. We're both alive right now, aren't we? All that prophecy ever did was play on your terrible fear of death, to the point that you created the one person who could defeat you. You chose me because you thought I was your biggest threat…because I was the most like you. You _gave_ me everything I needed to kill you-"

Voldemort spun around so quickly that Harry couldn't help but jump. "You cannot kill me, foolish boy. Whatever it is you intend to do, I suggest that you shut up and get on with it. Unless your plan is to bore me to death."

Voldemort knew that it made sense to use the Portkey immediately. Harry knew about horcruxes, and there was a chance that he had already found and destroyed his. Yet, he still felt the thrum of energy from the TARDIS. The time machine was no average horcrux; it was unbreakable. He had seen this in the Master's mind, and the alien could have no training as an Occlumens, could he? His finger was so close to the piece of amber. He should just touch it. All he needed to do was have someone else kill Harry. He could still torture him all he wanted before letting him die. He'd draw it out even longer, for days or weeks or more, now that the insolent boy had attempted to humiliate him in such a way, and had dared pity him. So, why did he hesitate? Why did he not leave? Was it curiosity to see what Harry would do? Or was it that his idiotic ideas held some truth? Voldemort could not deny the fact that he had twice failed to kill him with a curse that should have worked, and that the existence of some sort of _love magic_, beyond the usual seduction spells, was certainly out of his realm of knowledge. If it were true that such power could defeat death, then it wasn't something he could afford to ignore, however distasteful it might be…but he knew he had never been loved and didn't know how to love, and no matter how he tried to approach it the idea seemed vastly more alien to him than the Master and his red phone booth. For all of Harry's stupidity and his stubborn refusal to die, the boy might actually be able to show him something. That was the thought that made Voldemort's skin crawl, made him grit his teeth and snarl, made his insides twist with tremendous fear, even as he moved his hand away from the Portkey.

Harry took in the Dark Lord's look of sheer fury and terror, like a wild animal backed into a corner, and decided not to say anything more. He might be safe from being killed, but he could certainly be severely injured. Harry backed up slowly until he reached the nearest tree, then in one swift motion opened up the bark, stepped inside, and closed the door to M's TARDIS firmly behind him.

M, the Doctor, Hermione, and Ashley all looked at him expectantly. "So far, so good," said Harry, voice faintly tremulous. "December 31, 1926, please, Time Lords."

M set the destination, pulled a lever or two, and a moment later the tree-form TARDIS materialized in a small park just down the road from Wool's Orphanage. The Doctor opened the door, paused for the briefest moment, and closed it again. "What is it?" asked Harry.

"Fixed point. I don't know what it is, specifically, but wait here while I go ahead and check. May I borrow your Invisibility Cloak?"

M quietly asked, "Does that fit two?"

Harry nodded and handed it over. M stepped to the Doctor's side, and the Doctor threw the cloak around them both. The orphanage gates were locked, it being late in the evening, but they were no match for the sonic screwdriver. The building itself was drab, but warm and clean. It didn't look like a happy place to grow up, but the Time Lords caught the laughter of children as they neared a doorway. They peeked inside and saw a group of pajama-clad young boys making shadow figures against the wall with their hands and an assortment of construction-paper shapes. A woman with a stern expression approached from down the hall and entered the room, but her voice was kind as she said, "Boys, it's time for bed. Put out the torches, please."

She waited until they climbed back under their blankets. "Goodnight, boys. See you next year."

"Goodnight, Ms Martha," came a chorus of sing-song voices.

Martha shut the door gently and was heading back down the hall when a younger woman ran up to her. They nearly collided, and Martha said, "Ms Cole, are you all right?"

"Oh, Martha, come quick. The pregnant girl who staggered up the steps an hour ago…"

The women ran to the infirmary, and the Time Lords followed behind. They took one look at Merope Gaunt lying listlessly on the bed, quiet even though she was in her final labour pains, and knew that she was the fixed point. The Doctor heard M's breathing grow faster and shallower, a change that he recognized by now, which meant tears weren't far behind. The Doctor put his arm around M and led him back to the corridor, where they sat against the wall, waiting for the young witch to die. "But, she's got _magic_, she could _do something_ to save herself. How could she not want to live, for the sake of her child?" whispered M.

"She's given up on any possible future."

M's breathing hitched slightly. "I apologise for things I've said, about wanting to die…about not deserving to be alive. It wasn't right for me to say those things to you."

"It's okay. I understand you were in terrible pain. It just scared me, because I don't think I could stand it if I lost you, again. You don't still feel that way, do you?"

M shook his head vehemently. "And you _won't_ lose me. I mean, if I leave, it won't be…like that."

The Doctor didn't reply, lost in anxious thought about what could cause M to leave and how to prevent it. A baby began to cry, and they heard a hollow voice say, "Tom, after his father…Marvolo…M-A-R-V-O-L-O, after his grandfather…Riddle."

It wasn't long until Merope breathed her last, and the Muggle women moved the baby into another room, put him in a cloth diaper, and fed him a small bottle of formula. The Time Lords checked again, and sensed no other fixed points. They went to tell the others. "Oh no, what is it?" asked Hermione, as soon as they entered the TARDIS and removed the Cloak of Invisibility.

The Doctor had managed to put on a smile, but M had obviously been crying. "Is it hopeless?" asked Harry.

The Doctor shook his head. "His mother's death was the fixed point."

There were sighs of mixed sadness and relief. "Shall we go in now, or tomorrow?" Harry asked Ashley.

"Some theories suggest the first moments of infancy are crucial for personality development."

That was enough to convince Harry. The five of them bundled up and headed out into the snowy, bitterly cold New Year's Eve. The Time Lords had left the orphanage gate open, and they slipped into the building and proceeded to the room where the baby who might become Lord Voldemort was lying in a cot. Nobody was around; Ms. Cole and Martha had gone to telephone the authorities about Merope's death. As they watched, the baby began to thrash and cry, and the raw redness of his skin, and his unhappy wrinkled face reminded Harry strongly of the thing from the train station. Tom Riddle continued to cry, not loudly, but with increasing distress. "Did they feed him?" asked Ashley.

The Doctor nodded. "He says he wants to be held."

Everyone looked at him in shock, except for M. "That's right, you said you speak human baby," said Harry, stepping to the cot and very carefully picking up his worst enemy, cradling his head in the crook of his elbow. "How is that, Tom? Better?"

The baby promptly stopped crying and looked at Harry. His eyes were very dark and alert. "Um, he's staring at me. I thought newborns are supposed to be blind for a while."

"Muggles are," offered Hermione. "Magical newborns tend to be precocious."

Harry smiled at her. "Is there anything you don't know?"

"I know that parenting isn't a part-time job, Harry," she said, a little sternly. "You can't act like a dad and then just leave whenever you feel like it-"

"Who are you? What are you doing in here?" cried a voice from the doorway.

Everyone turned to see a very surprised and angry Ms Cole. She was only nineteen, had only worked at Wool's Orphanage for a few weeks, but her sharp features were already showing signs of strain. She smoothed her pale hair and tried to assume a presence of authority. The Doctor strode over to her, holding out his hand and smiling. "Sorry, it's just so serendipitous. You see, for the past year we've been discussing adopting again, and recently decided that it's time, and so when we were out for a walk just now and saw your gate open it seemed like a sign to us, so we just-"

"The gate was open? Oh. Oh, I must have left it open when that girl-"

Ms Cole put a hand to her forehead and gathered her wits, then continued, "My apologies, sir. We do not normally admit visitors at such a late hour."

"No, I'm sorry. We shouldn't have intruded like this. Oh, I'm still being rude. I'm Dr David Turnipseed, this is my wife Dr Ashley Turnipseed, her brother Michael Tardis, and our children Harry and Hermione."

Ms Cole's face brightened a bit as she glanced around at the family. They were well dressed and appeared healthy and sane, if rather modern. "Doctors, the both of you. How lovely."

She glanced at Harry, who was still holding Tom, and added, "And you say you're ready to adopt...immediately?"

"Oh, yes. We so want to give the children as much time as possible to bond with their new sibling, what with university just a few years away."

Ms Cole couldn't quite believe the incredible coincidence that an orphan would be born just an hour before a family arrived seeking to adopt, but she had no reason to suspect foul play, and she couldn't refuse what seemed like a very good and lucky chance for an orphan. She wrote down the address in London that the Doctor provided, and he assured her that she could visit anytime to check on young Tom. She also accepted the donation to the orphanage that the family offered, oddly, in gold coins. She couldn't explain why, but the whole affair had a magical air to it, as if it were a fairy tale. She only hoped it was the sort with a happy ending.

* * *

The Adoption of Children Act, which introduced legal adoption in England and Wales, came into operation on January 1, 1927.


	28. Chapter 28

[It starts off really mawkish but please don't think I've degraded into pure fluff]

* * *

Chapter 28 - _Operation: Raising Tom Riddle,_ Part 1

* * *

"Um...Doctor…I think you overdid it."

"You said pick a nice place, Harry."

The place was more than nice; it was sprawling, regal, and four storeys tall, surrounded by fenced-in gardens. Harry's throat felt dry. "How much did we end up making?"

"Using the forty Galleons you gave me..." The Doctor tilted his head. He wasn't very good with monetary calculations. "...let's just say Jack and I can never go back to Vegas. Or Reno. I reckon you're set for several lifetimes."

"Well, I hope Mrs Figg isn't too attached to her place in Little Whinging."

They traveled to Privet Drive on November 2, 1981, one day after baby Harry had been brought to the Dursleys, and found Arabella Figg at home. Once she recovered from the shock of meeting teenage Harry ("see, you did a good job watching over me, Mrs Figg, I'm alive and well") it wasn't difficult to persuade her into relocating to the posh mansion in London to watch over a different baby, with the assurance that nothing bad would happen to young Harry in the meantime. She was bright and steely; she understood the importance of helping Tom Riddle and was up to the task. As a bonus, she would have plenty of room to continue breeding her cats and Kneazles if she so desired.

They helped her move in, then went looking for Dumbledore at Hogwarts in June of 1938, just after the students had left for the summer and just before he would recruit Tom Riddle as a student. He'd been Professor of Transfiguration for thirty-four years, had accomplished amazing work with dragon's blood and alchemy, and was much more energetic than Harry was used to, but then again, he was only fifty-two. His beard was short and trim, and his hair was ashy grey, not the silver it would become. After a long and complicated discussion, he accepted the task of helping to make sure Tom Riddle didn't turn into a Dark Lord, vowing to pay closer attention than he apparently had the first time around and to guide the young wizard to use his immense talent in a productive manner. They returned to 1927, and Albus was given an entire wing of the London mansion to use as he pleased.

_Operation: Raising Tom Riddle_ was off to a solid start. They had the best of everything baby-related that money could buy (some of it quite anachronistic), so now it all came down to whether they were capable of working in concert to nurture a child, and whether that child was naturally capable of becoming a well-adjusted and empathetic adult. Only time would tell.

That first evening, they passed the baby around until he fell asleep, then put him in his cot and stared at his tiny form, dappled with light from a huge crystal chandelier. "I hope we bought enough parenting books," said Hermione.

The days crawled by, at first slowly and tentatively, but the days crawled by and soon learned to stand, and then began to march confidently in an organized regiment with Albus and Arabella firmly in the lead. They surprised everyone, including themselves, with the ease at which they slipped into parental roles. Albus had certainly never imagined being a family man in the traditional sense; besides the fact that he was gay (or had been; by now he was more asexual than anything), he had serious doubts about his ability to care for a child. He still wasn't sure, but he was eager to give it his all, and perhaps find some redemption for his own troubled youth. Also, he couldn't deny the allure of having a powerful wizard as his protégé if everything worked out; it was his private and slightly dangerous dream to have company in the lofty tower of greatness. Possessing too much talent for one's own good made for a rather lonely life. Albus often wondered if that was the reason why the wizards with the most potential often turned to the Dark Arts; perhaps they were only seeking to meet their match.

Arabella Figg had been widowed in her late thirties, when she lost her Muggle husband in a car accident. He was significantly older than she, and they had no children, which Arabella thought was for the best. Though she'd tried her whole life not to feel ashamed and resentful for being a Squib, she still felt the sting of being shut out of the Wizarding World, and though she'd known that there was a chance her offspring would inherit her recessive magical genes, she hadn't wanted to risk further disappointment. So, she accepted that she would never be a mother...well, she accepted it right up until _this_ happened, and was now frankly very pleased. The infant was calm, happy, and easy to care for, and since Arabella had been the second child of five, she had a good idea of what to expect. On top of this, she found Albus Dumbledore to be a warm and entertaining, if eccentric, companion.

They had a plan if Ms Cole came to call, but she never did. Occasionally, however, whilst out for a walk the extended family would see her on the front steps of Wool's Orphanage and everyone would smile and wave enthusiastically.

Harry, Hermione, 'David', 'Michael', and Ashley stayed for a month, until Dumbledore told them that they should really start skipping ahead in time to spare themselves from aging too much. They began to visit for an average of fifteen hours per week instead, which didn't seem like a lot until Hermione pointed out that they'd be away from 1996 for more than a year if they continued at that rate, including additional time for sleep, until Tom was eleven. It should've been enough to make them visit less often, yet it didn't feel like a hardship. The fact that Tom smiled every time they stepped into the room, grabbed affectionately at their faces and clothes with his small hands, and could say their names (Ahwee, Mione, Dahvee, 'Cull, and Slee) by the time he was seven months old may have had something to do with it.

* * *

_The Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore _

_January 1, 1933_

_Hello Diary_

_Yesterday wos my 6th birthday. 7 is a mor magic number than 6 but 6 is cool to._

_We went on holiday to Singapoor for my birthday. We went in the magic car thats bigger on the inside. Everyone went to the zoo. Harry and David and Michael and me tocked to the snakes. Tocking to snakes is called parceltung. Some witzies can do it but muggles cant. Mum is a squib so she cant tock to snakes, but dad also cant even tho he is a witzie. Tocking to snakes is speshal. I love Mum. I love Dad. Peple stare at his beerd. They dont no he is a witzie. _

_I like secrets. _

_Hermione says soon I can go to the witzie world to get my wand and coldrin and stuff to start learning propa magic. I will go to HOGWARTS when I turn 11. I wish I were 11 rite now. Hermione gave me this Diary for my birthday and books and quils._

_Ashley asks me lots of things. Today she askt about the muggle kids in the park. They dont no about magic but they are nice mostly. Not Cecil when he throo snow with a rock in it in Violets face and I got rilly angry and pushed him with magic. I didnt push hard even tho Violet had a cut. Dad says stand up to bullys but dont hurt them. Dad says its not fair but its rite._

_I like Violet. She has a scar from the rock._

_Harry also has a scar._

_I have an owl called Snudge._

_ I wish everyone came to visit mor. They are here alot but all the time wood be nice but they have secret things they need to do wiv the magic car. They are heros. I want to be a hero to._

_ Goodbye Diary! _

_ xxxxxx_

_ T. M. R. F. D. _

* * *

_January 16, 1933_

_ Hello Diary_

_I didnt gro in Mums tummy. I groo in my birth mothers tummy. An other womans tummy. I was born then came to liv wiv Mum and Dad. I have an other father to. That is why there is a Riddle in my name. Mum says my birth mother and father werent able to care for me. Mum says adoptd is forever. Mum says family is mor than blood relashins its peple who care for you and love you._

_Mum helpt rite this:_

_ Our Family:_

_ Tom Marvolo Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore_

_ Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Figg-Dumbledore_

_ Arabella Doreen Figg-Dumbledore_

_ Harry James Potter_

_ Hermione Jean Granger_

_ Michael Tardis_

_ David Turnipseed _

_ Ashley Hardwick Turnipseed_

_ Snudge _

_ Fawkes_

_ Cats and Kneazles: Snoots, Treacle, Pepper, Buckminster, Mr Sprink, Saffron, Boggy, Pinchy, 5 new kittens_

* * *

_ January 18, 1933_

_ The runt kitten died. Everyone is sad. _

_ Dad says magic cant fix everything. Sometimes it helps sometimes not. Witzies liv a long time but stil die. Its all rite to be sad when someone dies. Its all rite to cry. Death happens to everyone but Mum and Dad wont die for a very very very long time._

_ Dont worry. _

* * *

_ February 14, 1933_

_ Violet is my Valentine and I am hers. I wontd to give her Choclit Frogs but Dad sed it might scare a muggle so I gave her sugard violets insted._

* * *

"We missed his first kiss!?" shrilled Hermione, shaking the snow from her coat in the marble mudroom of the Figg-Dumbledore Estate.

"Oh, it was just the sweetest, the two little darlings, but _then_ he accidentally cast a glittering charm on the girl," said Arabella.

"There's such a thing as a glittering charm?" asked Harry.

"It's silly, but yes. She loved it, of course, a six-year-old girl loves to sparkle, but Albus fixed it before her nanny noticed."

"That reminds me," said Hermione. "What if there were a place for magical children to go before they turn eleven...a day school where their budding magic wouldn't have to be hidden? Subtle adverts could be placed in Muggle newspapers, to catch the attention of parents who are confused about their kids' _supernatural_ behavior. They could bring their magical children there and receive counseling. There could even be a transit system, like the Knight Bus."

"That's brilliant, Hermione!" said Harry.

"I'd happily volunteer, and I'm sure I could recruit others," said Ashley.

Only a week later (from the time-travellers' perspective) the Granger School for Gifted Children opened its doors for the first time. "Why...why's it got _my_ name on it?" asked Hermione, looking Stupefied.

"You're the brightest witch of your age, haven't you heard?" replied Harry, beaming.

Hermione was now thoroughly speechless. After a minute, Harry started to get worried. "Um. You do _like_ it...don't you? Hermione?"

"Say one more thing and I'll have no choice but to marry you instead of Ron, fixed point or no fixed point," she said.

Harry shuffled his feet, stayed quiet, and thought of Ginny.

* * *

_The Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore _

_September 5, 1935_

_Today I broke a boy's arm. We were playing football and he thought the ball went out of bounds but I knew it didn't, so I kept after it and he said, "it's out, stupid mudblood" (I guess he thinks Mum is a muggle?) and it made me __really__ angry, and we fought and...well...oops. Some of the kids who attend Grangers' are learning really screwed up stuff from their parents. Rich 'pure-bloods' send their kids here like it's going to give them the edge when they get to Hogwarts. Like we're already networking even though we're only 8 for Merlin's sake. I really hope that's not true. But these dumb familys are only rich, they have no courage or decency. At least we're rich __and__ brave __and__ decent. _

_Dad was really really mad at me for breaking that kid's arm, even though he said __THAT__ and punched me in the face AND kicked me in the leg before I even fought him. It was so easy to break his arm. I just grabbed it and gave it a magic twist. Then he was just laying there on the ground crying and trying to curse me (haha, pathetic) and I was just standing there, even though he broke my nose __and__ gave me a ginormous bruise on my shin. And while he was crying he said I started it and called me a M******d AGAIN. But Dad was STILL angry. Arghh!_

_So now I can't play football until I learn to Control My Temper. Like become a robot or something. It's fine...I'm so much better than the other kids at football anyway it's kind of boring. _

* * *

_October 15, 1935_

_I have learned to Control My Temper. That kid didn't come back to school...I think Dad 'disinvited' him! I have been playing football again for the last two weeks without injuring anyone. : )_

_Kids don't understand the strategy of football. They don't work as a team. They just all run after the ball at once. The team really needs a Captain and I would be __such__ a good Captain but SIGH it's just for fun. Football is one of the non-magical things we do because we need to keep our connection to the muggle world, says Mum and Dad. I think they are right. Witzies and muggles should be able to relate to each other. But there's so many more of them then us, so we have to stay hidden. It's weird, though._

* * *

_June 25, 1936_

_We're in America! First we went to see the National Parks. We stopped to meet with Witzies pretty much everywhere. It's not like magic Britain...the Witzies of America are spread out all over the country instead of living in mostly Witzie villages like in England. The cities in America are GINORMOUS. And the wilderness is huge too and all sorts of climates. We met with some Native American 'shamans' who had a lot to say about Divination and Dad talked to them FOREVER even though I know he thinks Divination is silly. But Ashley was __very__ interested in what they had to say about healing. _

_Oh right I should've said that (besides Mum and Dad) Ashley, Hermione, David, Michael, and of course Harry came along. : ) _

_I have to remember to buy souvenirs for Violet, Ernest, Gussie, Marjorie and Sebastienne. Most importantly Violet. She said she might be moving to Paris because of her Dad's work. : ( But I told her someday I will learn to Apparate and then it won't matter. I have told Violet some things I maybe am not supposed to. _

_Now we're at the Salem Witches' Institute (boys can go here also despite the name) and Dad is talking to some people AGAIN so everyone else is hanging out in the Library. Hermione showed me a book about what happened here in the 1690s. Of course that was just one example of a larger event (Hermione calls it a 'phenomena') that was going on in the 15__th__ thru 18__th__ centuries all across Europe, too. Witzies call it "The Burning Times" but not a lot of us talk about it. My family does, though, because part of being brave and decent is not turning away from ugly things and learning from the past. _

_Muggles can act so weird, though. Why why why would they want to destroy magic? Jelousy? Muggles could marry Witzies and give their children magic...Muggleborn children are just as powerful as pure-bloods. Just look at Hermione. She is amazing at magic and SO smart, maybe even smarter than Dad._

_It makes __no sense__ to burn each other._

_The whole world could be magic. _

* * *

_June 26, 1936_

_OH MERLIN THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE!_

_I was too excited yesterday to write about it but at the Salem Witches' Institute Dad got me a WAND to use for practice before I get my official one from Ollivander in two years. In Britain kids are really not supposed to get a wand until they're 11 but we 'ain't' in England now! I guess America is different about wands. Dad says what he did was a tiny bit wrong, but he says I have a lot of talent and should "get a handle on it" whatever that means. Everyone except Dad looks really nervous for some reason like I might explode something. It doesn't matter. I HAVE A WAND. _

* * *

_June 27, 1936 _

_I exploded my wand on the first try. Good thing Dad secretly got like a dozen of them. Hermione showed me how to Levitate things and do Aguamenti. We also worked on the Shield charm. I thought today couldn't get any cooler but then Dad said tomorrow we are going to Hogwarts to do something incredibly secret and heroic and they need my help! There's a giant __real__ly dangerous snaky thing called a basilisk in a hidden room that I can get into because I'm the Heir of Slytherin. _

_Oh, I haven't told you about that, have I? I am descended from Salazar Slytherin through my birth mother. It gives me special powers or something. _

_Now I can't sleep. _

* * *

"Sir, are you _sure_ you want him to open the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Why not, Harry? We can remove a grave danger from the school, reclaim an important bit of history, and it will be good for Tom. I've hired a team of basilisk handlers, security wizards, and archaeologists. The _other_ me will be out of the country tomorrow, the Doctor and M have agreed to make sure the current Headmaster will be otherwise occupied, and at this point in the summer there won't be any students around. The timing is perfect."

"Okay, but how exactly does one _handle_ a basilisk?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "Can't wait to find out!"

Harry gulped. He had a hard time sleeping that night. Around three AM, he got up and wandered through the mansion. The place was so huge it reminded him of walking the halls of Hogwarts, only less dungeon-y and more palatial, and the staircases were blessedly unchanging. He finally stopped outside of Tom's room, drawn by the beam of light under the door. He knocked softly, in case the boy was sleeping. "Come in," said Tom.

He was sitting up in bed, leaning against two pillows, a huge book entitled 'Dragons, Wyverns and Wyrms of the Olde Worlde' propped open across his lap. He looked up at Harry and smiled, but Harry saw his nervousness and went and sat on the bed next to him. The book was open to the entry on basilisks. Harry frowned in confusion at the illustrations and asked, "Why does it look like a chicken?"

"It says a basilisk is a snake or a toad's egg that's been incubated by a cockerel. But over here it says it's like a cow. It makes me wonder if anyone's actually _seen_ this thing."

"I don't think many people _have_ seen it. I mean, it turns you to stone if you look it in the eyes or see it reflected."

Harry felt the young boy stiffen. He quickly added, "Don't worry. That's not going to happen to anyone tomorrow, or hopefully ever again. But you get why we need to move it out of Hogwarts, right?"

Tom nodded. "What's it doing there in the first place, with all those kids around?"

"Salazar Slytherin put it there when Hogwarts was first built."

"Why?"

Harry decided that it was best to tell the truth. "Salazar had a disagreement with the other founders of Hogwarts. He believed that blood purity was really important, so he allegedly put the basilisk there to get rid of Muggleborns."

"Get _rid_ of...like, _kill_?"

"Sadly, yes."

Tom pictured Hermione dead, and felt like he might cry. "How could he think like that?"

"Some people make very bad decisions based on their beliefs."

"Does being his heir make me bad, too?"

Harry started as if he'd been stung, and reached out to stroke Tom's dark mop of hair. "No, it doesn't. Not even a little."

"I must be a _little _bad. Sometimes I get so angry."

"Angry about what?"

"People hurting people."

"It's all right to be angry about that. But you have to accept that the only behavior you can control is your own. Staying angry all the time will make you tired and bitter."

"Salazar Slytherin made a big mistake."

"Yes, he did."

Tom's face was grim as he said, "I'm going to fix it."

Seven hours later, he stood blindfolded in front of the door to the Chamber of Secrets, and spoke the words in Parseltongue that unbolted the elaborate lock. The portal swung open, and the basilisk handlers launched several cylindrical objects deep into the chamber and then backed away. Tom cleared his throat and announced, "I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Heir of Slytherin. I summon the basilisk."

After a few long moments there was a loud hissing noise, followed very soon after by a series of loud pops.

It turned out that basilisk handlers use smoke bombs infused with magical serpent-specific narcotics to get the job done.

The smoke completely obscuring their vision, the handlers found the unconscious creature by feel and with the assistance of a bat trained to echolocate and report back. After twenty minutes or so of spellcasting, the lead handler shouted, "All clear! You can remove your blindfolds!"

It took four wizards to Levitate the basilisk out of the chamber. "Are its eyes silver?" asked Tom.

"No, that's something we invented," said one of the handlers. "It's like a pair of mirrored sunglasses, only dome-shaped, that we affix over the basilisk's eyes using an Extra Permanent Sticking Charm."

"What's going to happen to it?"

"She'll roam in our sanctuary, living as naturally as possible within the fenced-in space. It's about three-thousand square kilometers...a very decent range for a basilisk."

Tom was relieved to hear this. The handlers shook hands with Dumbledore and departed. By then the smoke had cleared, and the small team of private-security witches and wizards went in to sweep for other nasty surprises. Once satisfied that the space was safe, the archaeologists and historians were allowed to enter, followed finally by Tom, Albus, Arabella, Hermione and Harry.

Without the aura of impending doom, they found the space eerily beautiful. Some of the archaeologists were giggling uncontrollably and high-fiving each other. Somebody uncorked a bottle of champagne.

* * *

_The Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore_

_August 25, 1938_

_ My wand: 13.5 inches, Yew, phoenix feather core_

_Hogwarts just days away. _

* * *

_September 1, 1938_

_I am on the Hogwarts Express now. Everyone came to the station to see me off, and Hermione gave me (guess what!) extra books. There are so many kids on the train and I know a bunch of them from Grangers', but I'm kinda freaking out about the Sorting and I found an empty compartment to be alone for a while. Everyone told me that the Sorting Hat considers your House preferance, but I'm the Heir of Slytherin for Merlin's sake! How can I not be sorted into Slytherin? But I know all the pure-blood familys send their kids there, and I don't like those people. And though he doesn't say it, I think Dad might think Slytherin = Evil. BUT I could prove that's not true...I could be one of the good people in Slytherin to try to counteract the wrong thinking that's going on. I don't know if it will make me happy but it might be the right choice. I don't know! All right, let's make a list:_

_PROS AND CONS OF HOUSES:_

_SLYTHERIN_

_Pro: _

_ -Being Heir of Slytherin means people in Slytherin will respect me_

_ -This means I can change people's minds (I can be a force for the truth)_

_ -Let's face it...I am ambitious and clever_

_ -Green and silver are cool_

_ -I like snakes_

_Con:_

_ -Cruel/ignorant people will make me angry_

_ -Kids from other Houses will think I share pureblood views_

_ -My family are all Gryffindors _

_ -Association with Dark Arts_

_GRYFFINDOR_

_Pro:_

_ -The most 'heroic' House_

_ -Family will be proud (no use denying it)_

_ -Gryffindors tend to bend the rules : )_

_ -Red and gold remind me of Fawkes_

_Con:_

_ -Heroes can be dumb if they rush in without thinking things through._

_ -May increase the rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin (and possibly be disliked by both Houses) if they know I'm the Heir._

_HUFFLEPUFF:_

_Pro:_

_ -Least amount of rivalry (impartial)_

_ -Friendly, kind people_

_ -A mixed assortment of personality types_

_ -Hard work and patience are very good virtues_

_ -produces fewest Dark wizards_

_ -'Happiest' House_

_Con: _

_ -Too 'easy' of a choice? (Doesn't utilize my full potential?)_

_ -Happiness could make me lose my ambition_

_ -Other Houses think Hufflepuff isn't 'cool'_

_ -I will lose influence over Slytherin_

_RAVENCLAW:_

_Pro:_

_ -The most intelligent peer group_

_ -The most scientific minds_

_ -Knowledge dispels ignorance_

_ -Neutral_

_Con: _

_ -Aloof personalities_

_ -Too focused on academic success_

_ -Too much thinking, not enough doing_

_ -Will lose influence over Slytherin_

* * *

The Hogwarts Express pulled into Hogsmeade Station. Tom was still staring at the list. If it were a matter of sheer numbers of pros vs. cons, it seemed that he would have to choose Gryffindor or Hufflepuff, yet the downside of Gryffindor was possibly disastrous; he could find himself in a situation where _nobody_ trusted him, where he had no friends. At least in Slytherin he would be admired, but did he truly want to be admired by people whose views he despised and were so antithetical to his own? Yet, being in Slytherin was the best way to slowly and cunningly change their views. Tom had the ambition to eradicate cruelty and ignorance wherever and however possible, and Slytherin House seemed like the right place to start because it was blatantly in need of help. Yet, he had one lingering concern, one terrible doubt.

When the Sorting Hat was placed upon on his head, he voiced his fear, whispering, "If you can really see into my mind, you know that I'd like to be in Slytherin _only_ if I can do good there. If you can tell that it would turn me bad despite my best intentions please put me in Hufflepuff, thanks."

The Sorting Hat replied,

"The fact that you are so afraid

shall save you from so cruel a fate

for no-one with a broken soul

would feel the need to worry so.

Yet, listen now! There is a risk

you'll forfeit all your happiness

if too rigid a stance you take

if too eager a mark you make.

Your mind is sharp, your heart is brave

Your kindnesses will be repaid

Of any House, you're worthy kin

But best you'll serve in Slytherin."

Tom got down from the stool and walked to the Slytherin table. He managed to make it through the entire feast without once looking at his father.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29 - _Operation: Raising Tom Riddle_, Part 2

* * *

"Slytherin. _Slytherin!_" Albus yelled, gripping the metal railing that surrounded the bridge of M's TARDIS.

Everyone (except Tom, who was asleep in the Slytherin dormatory) stared. Dumbledore was shaking with rage, and when his hands came away, Harry could have sworn that the railing was bent. "Sir, do you _really_ hate Slytherin that much-"

"Why else is _that_ still _green_?" Albus cried, jabbing his finger towards the core of the TARDIS. His voice dropped in volume and took on a grief-stricken tone as he added, "What did we do _wrong_? What did we miss?"

"_Stop._ He's only eleven," said Arabella.

"I should've made sure he understood not to choose Slytherin. Michael, can we go back so I can make sure he understands?"

Before M could answer, Harry said, "Sir, I don't think it's right to take his choices away."

"Slytherin breeds Dark wizards."

"Why is that?"

"The kind of people who are sorted into that House are predisposed. Their families share certain agendas."

"And you think Tom also shares their agenda, despite tons of proof to the contrary?"

"No, Harry. Not yet."

"So...you think his peers are going to brainwash him?"

"Why give them the chance?"

Harry's gaze grew steely. "In the future you were going to –and I dunno, still _might_– meet a young man who _despite_ being sorted into Slytherin and joining a group that sought to eradicate Muggleborns, realised his error and had the courage to defy a Dark Lord at extreme personal risk in a way that _only_ a Slytherin could've pulled off and proved crucial to winning a war. His childhood was miserable, he was drawn to the Dark Arts from the start, he was bullied mercilessly by_ Gryffindors_, yet he _still _ended up doing the right thing because _being sorted into Slytherin doesn't make you evil. _And you had the nerve to say to him that Hogwarts 'sorts too early' instead of something, like, I dunno, 'you honor your House.'"

Dumbledore's eyebrows had been raised for a while. "I said that?"

Harry took a breath, then continued in a calmer tone, "Yes, in that future. I'm sorry, Sir, but you're just _wrong_ this time. Yes, the TARDIS is still a horcrux, but there's no _good_ reason to connect that with Tom being in Slytherin. Will you please consider other explanations?"

Albus nodded, but in the silence that followed, no other explanations were forthcoming.

They had brought the locket, diadem, and cup with them when they first set out into the past, and all had reverted into a pre-horcrux state around Tom's seventh birthday (early childhood _had_ apparently played a crucial role in his development), much to their relief. Even Harry's scar had faded entirely, which made him very excited because it meant that his parents might be alive and well in the revised future. Yet, he could _remember_ the scar, remember growing up at the Dursleys, just as he could remember the destruction of the objects that were now clearly unbroken. He was confused. If his scar had vanished didn't that mean that his past had already changed and he should be able to recall a different childhood? He asked the Doctor, who explained that while Harry was traveling in the past his _perception_ would not change because those events hadn't happened yet, relative to their current perspective, but when he returned to observe the results in his present, his memories would then fall into place. The Doctor also said that residual memories of alternate timelines sometimes lingered as a side effect of being a time traveler. This confused Harry even more, so he decided to stop asking such questions. The important thing was that Harry and the objects weren't horcruxes anymore nor did they show any sign of _ever having been_ horcruxes. Unless future Tom had decided to make a different set of horcruxes, perhaps out of more mundane objects, this was a good indication that they were succeeding.

The TARDIS was different, that much was plain to see. Hermione had theorized that something happening to the TARDIS might happen at _every _materialization of the TARDIS across space-time, but the Doctor had pointed out that someone had once spray-painted on the outside of his TARDIS and the graffiti did not appear at every point it had visited. (Of course, there was that _one time_ the TARDIS had simultaneously exploded everywhere it had ever been and Amy had had to reset the entire universe, but the Doctor thought that would just worry everyone so he didn't bring it up). Hermione had replied that making a horcrux was a more fundamental alteration than spray-painting the surface of something. She went on to describe Transfiguration to the Doctor, who tried to understand but couldn't wrap his mind around the physics involved in turning a Draco Malfoy into a ferret, not that he'd paid much attention in physics class back on Gallifrey, anyway. An interminable discussion sprung up between Hermione and M, which the Doctor gladly tuned out.

They had talked in circles before and were here again, right where they'd started, and nobody had anything left to say. They all knew that the best option was to maintain patience and observe what Tom would do next.

* * *

The Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore

_July 13, 1939 _

_ I haven't written in this Diary for such a long time. So much happened during my first year at Hogwarts that I would need to write a book in order to get it all down. Being in Slytherin has been interesting to say the least. I haven't told anyone that I'm the Heir of Slytherin. It was only my first year after all, and that information is sort of my 'ace in the hole' to use a term from the American West. I love playing poker with my family. Some of their tells are so obvious. _

_ Anyway, during my first year I made a lot of acquaintances, was never impolite to anyone no matter what House they are in, and didn't get involved with the bullying some Slytherins think is par for the course. When they tried to pressure me I'd just say 'it doesn't interest me. It's childish and bad for the Slytherin image' and I saw it gave some of them pause, so that's a start._

_I'm one of the tallest kids in my year and I got top marks in every class, so I did manage to stand out but I wasn't a teacher's pet and didn't get __too__ much attention. Girls stare at me a lot and giggle and tell me I'm handsome but they won't really __talk__ to me. I miss Violet. She did move to Paris and we exchange letters. She is going to an all-girls school and is in the choir. _

_I've decided I want to go to Little Hangleton to meet my birth father and the family of my birth mother. I was worried this would upset Mum and Dad but they said it is perfectly normal and they support me. They told me the truth about my birth mother. She had a very sad life and made mistakes but she really loved my birth father. But because there was a love spell involved, he didn't love her back and left her. She was so depressed and broken hearted she couldn't go on. She couldn't care for me and neither could my birth father and I don't really blame them...it was all so sad...but it still makes me a little angry. Ashley said it's okay to be a little angry, even a lot. She's a Healer, so I trust her on that. Ashley, Mum and Dad are going with me to Little Hangleton, but I'm going to the Riddle house myself. We can go whenever I want. I just wanted to write this stuff down beforehand as a reminder to myself. _

_ I am loved. I have a family. _

_ Okay, so we're back from Little Hangleton. It was really weird. My grandfather Marvolo Gaunt died a few years ago, but my uncle Morfin was there in this really sad and dirty shack. He had been in Azkaban and has gone quite mad. Azkaban is probably the worst place in the world from what I hear. He immediately started yelling at me that I looked like "that Muggle" who had married my mother and then abandoned her. I told him I knew all that and then he didn't seem to know what else to say. He just stared at me and kept playing with this weird ring he had, looking scared like I was going to hex him and steal it or something. _

_ We went up the road a while until we got to the Riddle House, which is up on a hill. It's a really nice house, not as ridiculous as ours, but still very stately and grand, looking out over a grassy valley. I guess it would've been a nice place to grow up, but it's pretty far from London. _

_ I went up to the house by myself and knocked. A butler came to answer. I gave my full name and said that I wanted to meet with Tom Riddle Sr if he wanted to, and was told to wait outside. Not being invited into the drawing room was a little rude already, but I didn't say anything. I mean, I had shown up unannounced but I looked presentable. I'd worn nice clothes (Muggle clothes) and combed my hair and everything. After what seemed like a very long time the butler came back and said that Tom Riddle Sr was "disinclined to meet me", and that he was sorry. I'm not sure if it was the butler or Mr Riddle who was sorry but it didn't seem authentic. It was like the 'sorry' people say all the time like a tic that doesn't mean anything. _

_I was going to leave but then everything sort of just hit me and I said that I really really needed to see him. I said he didn't need to say anything just listen for a minute, and I wasn't there asking for money because I was already insanely wealthy, and I wasn't asking for him to explain anything or apologise or be my dad because I knew everything about what had happened and it was okay and I already have an awesome family. The butler went back inside to deliver the message and a few minutes later Tom Riddle Sr came outside. _

_He looked really scared. He stayed by the door and stared at me. I used a little Legilimency and that made me QUITE sure I was unwelcome, but also he was curious about the words 'insanely wealthy'. What a git._

_But there he was. We do really look alike, it's weird. I let him be scared for a little while then said (I'd rehearsed this): "I'm a wizard. I have magic, like Merope had. What she did was wrong, putting a spell on you. Wizards and witches shouldn't do that sort of thing and I want you to know that they can be arrested for doing so. I'm sorry that she did what she did, but I'm not sorry I was born because I was adopted by the greatest people and I've had a great life so far and it's only going to get better. I just wanted to tell you that."_

_After that, he still looked scared and a little impatient. I could tell he didn't get the point of why I was there. It wasn't really about him, anyway, so I just said "Thank you for seeing me. I won't come round again. Goodbye" and I turned and walked back down the hill. I looked back and saw the faces of my grandparents poking out a second-storey window. I smiled and waved, and they pulled back inside and slammed the shutters closed. Ha ha ha._

_I met up with Mum and Dad and Ashley back down the hill. They looked really worried like I was about to have a breakdown or something, or like they were going to cry. Seeing them like that did make me feel like crying a little but not in a bad way. Dad hugged me for way too long like I'd been gone for years instead of like twenty minutes. After we got home Dad gave me that ring that my uncle had been wearing (he said Morfin had decided I ought to have it. Not sure if I totally believe that.) It is __really__ cool looking, with this dark grey stone with a cool symbol on it. Dad told me it's a family heirloom and should be passed down from generation to generation. I told him the Gaunts and Peverells aren't really my family, but he said they are a part of me and I'm part of history. Even if I don't agree with pure-bloods I come from a long line of wizards and I shouldn't be ashamed of anything...not of being a Parselmouth or the mistakes of my ancestors or my birth parents. _

_I guess I can wear the ring for a while and see if I like it._

_Whoa, it's really late now, I should get to sleep. _

* * *

_ September 22, 1939_

_ Germany has invaded Poland. Great Britain and France have declared war against Germany. I listened to it all day yesterday on my Muggle radio even though I had to walk far away from Hogwarts for it to work properly._

_It is really hard for me to focus on classes with a war going on. What's extra weird is a lot of Witzies don't seem to notice or care about the war (conspiracy theory: Muggle radios don't work here ON PURPOSE). These kids are perfectly happy going to Quidditch games and gossiping about who's snogging who, but mention the war and they stare at you like you're insane for caring about anything outside the Witzie world. Don't they get that the Witzie world exists WITHIN the Muggle world, and the Muggles have guns and bombs and tanks. We aren't invincible. _

_The kids are probably just not mature enough to realize how serious the situation is. Sometimes I wish I weren't precocious and taking a 'long view' of everything. I wish I could just be happy like them. I think a lot about what the Sorting Hat said, when it warned me I might forfeit my happiness if I take too rigid a stance. I have to take the 'short view' too, and enjoy my childhood while I'm a child, enjoy the company of other children. Deep breaths, deep breaths. That's what Mum would say. _

_Mum is here, actually, she has been working an assistant nurse in the infirmary. Mum and Dad let me receive Muggle newspapers (and the Daily Prophet) by owl at breakfast every morning, as long as I don't get too personally upset by the news. Now that's a hard thing to promise. _

_Wait, hold on, I'm not being fair...there is a kid in Slytherin in my year called Alphard Black who is really smart, cares about issues, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't think blood purity is important because every time the topic comes up he either doesn't comment or finds a subtle way to leave the conversation. I haven't asked him directly about it because the truth is if people in Slytherin find out you're a "blood traitor" there's no coming back from that socially. It would ruin my plans. But I think I might be able to trust Alphard. We are both in the Slug Club. Horace Slughorn seems a bit shallow, he just wants to be around people who are powerful or might get famous. But at least he's smart and interesting and can tell me stuff about the Dark Arts._

* * *

_September 22, 1940 _

_Well, it's been exactly one year since I last wrote, and London is being bombed by the Nazis. They're calling it 'the Blitz'. Our house, Grangers' School, St. Mungo's Hospital, and Diagon Alley, etc, are protected by magic but thousands of people are dying and houses are being destroyed. I don't understand why Witzies can't protect more of London or for that matter DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE WAR. _

_Well, maybe they are and it's just secret or something. I hope._

_I asked David and Michael about using the TARDIS to prevent the war. They said it's way too big a time event to stop it and it's full of 'fixed points'. I asked about just killing Hitler and the top-level Nazis and David said "that's a time traveler trope" and that his friend even tried it once but it 'didn't work out'. Trope? Didn't work out? Sometimes I can't tell if he's trying to be clever or if he's just completely mad. _

_France surrendered to Germany in June, but De Gaulle went on the radio and said "France has lost a battle, but France has not lost the war." I wrote to Violet. She is scared but all right. Lots of people have died in France. Lots of civilians. _

_We have problems in the Witzie world, too. Grindlewald is waging a war that's a lot like what's going on in the Muggle world. I think he was inspired by Hitler. The Ministry is trying to stop him of course, but it's going to come down to Dad, I think, since he's the most powerful Witzie (and I have this feeling he knows Grindlewald. It's not like, a psychic feeling. Dad just knows EVERYONE.) But for some REASON Dad won't do anything, like he's waiting until the Ministry runs out of other options. I guess he's a bit of a pacifist. _

_I've been having what Ashley calls 'panic attacks'. We talked a lot about what might be causing them and I told her the truth...I really don't feel safe. I want to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts at a level they don't offer at Hogwarts. Let's face it, the D.A.D.A. they teach to kids here is a JOKE compared to real life Dark Arts. Ashley admitted this is true and she said she wouldn't tell Dad but suggested that I do. I'm worried about what he'll say and think...but I need to learn it or I'll never feel safe._

_ I talked to Dad about it. He said he'll let me take a course at Durmstrang (!) in the summer, but not to mention it to Mum or anyone for now. Until then, Professor Merrythought is going to let me do N.E.W.T.-level work even though I'm a third year. I'm pretty surprised that he agreed to this so easily. I thought he'd get an Auror to show me some self-defense or something...but Durmstrang? That place is serious._

* * *

_March 12, 1941_

_A month ago, I told Alphard that I'm the Heir of Slytherin, to see if he'd tell anyone. He didn't. It's so hard to know who you can trust in Slytherin. I've been friendly with people in other Houses and I get questioned about it a lot, about their blood status and why I'm hanging out with them, etc. But it's been helpful to see which Slytherins DON'T ask me, because they might be good allies. Abraxas Malfoy, a fourth year, has been really friendly and I don't think he's faking it (I may have used a little Legilimens). I would just go around using Legilimency on everyone but some of these kids are pretty good Occlumens. I guess if you're rich and Slytherin you get lessons in Occlumency from a young age. I'm glad Legilimency is harder to learn (most people have to say the spell but I can already do it non-verbally and wandlessly), so I've still got an advantage over them. But I'm not the best Occlumens yet. _

_It's official, I'm going to Durmstrang from July 1st – 30th._

* * *

"You said he could do _what_?!" shrieked Arabella.

"It's only for one month," said Albus.

"Even _I_ know Durmstrang Institute takes a much different stance on the Dark Arts. You were so upset when he was sorted into Slytherin, and now you want to send him _there_?! Merlin, Albus, have you _given up_?"

"On the contrary. Harry was right. We need to trust that Tom will always choose to do the right thing. If we try to restrict him from the Dark Arts we'll never know for sure, and it might drive him away from us. He only wants to learn to _defend_ himself, Ara. The world is in chaos these days and it's especially terrifying to a fourteen-year-old. If it will stop his panic attacks, he should do it."

Arabella thought this over. It deeply upset her that Tom was suffering from such anxiety and if anything could help, well...she had to admit it was worth a try. "One month, then straight back here. I'll hear no talk of transferring schools. None whatsoever. And he is going to owl us _every day_."

She knew that last part was a little unreasonable. Still, Albus made Tom promise to honor her request, and he did.

The summer weather of Sweden was similar to that of London, but much sunnier. The group of eleven Durmstrang students (five male and six female) who had stayed for the summer session, plus the Hogwarts exchange student (Tom), took their lessons outdoors during the day. This was partly to take advantage of the mild season, but mostly to utilize the elaborate obstacle courses and mock battlefields set up on the sprawling grounds around the castle. The castle itself was much smaller than Hogwarts, but it was a foreboding fortress and was perfect for learning to fight in dim, close quarters.

Tom loved the training. It was extremely difficult, even infuriating at times, but he could feel himself getting stronger day by day, and soon rose to the top of the small class.

The others whispered about him in Swedish and various Slavic languages, though he clearly caught the name _Dumbledore _being said with barely-veiled mockery. One of the boys even called him "son of a Muggle-lover" while they were dueling, but Tom decided not to get hung up on that. Despite their conflicting attitudes he _had_ been allowed to study at Durmstrang, after all (though it might have something to do with his dad's generous donation to the Institute). He focused on learning, and the more impressive Tom's magic became, the less whispering he heard. By the second week, a few of the other students even started speaking to him in English. A rangy boy named Aleksandr Varsky who was far and away the best duelist among them took particular interest in Tom, talking with him after every lesson, giving him tips on his fighting technique, and sitting next to him at meals. Aleksandr was one year older, had ash blonde hair and grey eyes that pierced Tom's with practiced ease. Aleksandr swiftly pried things from Tom's mind that he'd never told anyone, but the older boy didn't do so to humiliate him, only to help him improve his Occlumency.

One evening after class, he asked Tom to come along on a secret adventure. He Apparated them to a hill overlooking train tracks, where a seemingly endless caravan of railway cars was moving by. "Do you know what's in there, Tom?"

The younger boy shook his head. The older one continued, "Howitzer cannons, tanks, anti-aircraft weapons, ammunition...the German 163rd Infantry Division. Sweden is letting the Nazis pass through from Norway to Finland."

"I thought Sweden was neutral."

"This is a breach of neutrality. I'm Jewish. My father is Russian, my mother is German. We were living in Berlin. We came here because we thought it was safe, and it _does seem_ to be safe for Jews if they can get here."

Tom looked at Aleksandr. Aleksandr looked at the train going by and quietly said, "Sweden is also letting Nazi soldiers on leave pass through. Would you like to kill some with me?"

When his friend didn't answer, the taller boy turned and locked eyes with him, all Occlusion dropped, and Tom could see that he wasn't joking in the slightest. A chill ran through him. Aleksandr smirked and said, "No? Maybe next year."

They Apparated back to Durmstrang without exchanging another word. Tom was afraid Aleksandr would leave again to go kill someone, but instead he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. Tom waited until everyone was asleep before writing his daily letter.

_"Dear Mum and Dad (+ Everyone), _

_Training is still going great, nothing new to report. I hope you are all well. Next we are learning to resist Imperius. _

_Love, Tom."_

Tom sent the owl, blew out his lamp, curled up on his side, and stared out into the darkness.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30 -_ Operation: Raising Tom Riddle, _part 3

* * *

_The Diary of Tom Marvolo Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore_

_August 1, 1941_

_Back from Durmstrang. The last week was especially stressful, but nothing bad happened. Everyone had warned me that kids who go to Durmstrang can be really intense and scary. Alek was still nice to me even though I couldn't help him. He didn't bring it up again. I'm not sure how I feel._

_Dad defeated Grindelwald while I was away! I wish I'd seen the battle. Apparently it went on for days until Grindelwald passed out from exhaustion and Dad could've died if Fawkes hadn't been there to help him. Dad got Grindelwald's wand...it's really cool looking._

_ So, in one month it's back to Hogwarts. I can't believe it's my fourth year already. I'd better really get going on that fixing Slytherin thing. Alphard sent me a letter at the London house while I was away. He wrote a lot of things down that could really hurt him if they got out, so I know for sure I can trust him now. I sent him a letter with similar information so he knows he can trust me. _

* * *

_ December 8, 1941 _

_ Yesterday Japan attacked the U.S. at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and today the U.S. joined the World War._

_ I don't know if that declaration of war prompted me to declare today in the common room that I'm the Heir of Slytherin, but I think the timing was perfect. You should've seen their faces. I even demonstrated some Parseltongue. They were awed. Amazing how important bloodlines are to some people. They've all seen how good I am at magic and I'm still getting top marks, so I'll just keep being 'awesome' (Harry-word) and then (at some point) let slip that my birth father was a Muggle and maybe they'll see being pure-blood doesn't mean anything? I can at least stop a lot of bullying now by saying 'Salazar Slytherin wouldn't approve', even though it's probably a total lie cos the man was a git. _

_It's weird, I've got a Muggle, a Squib, and one of the most powerful witzies of all time (even though he's a Half-Blood, c'mon Slytherin, open your eyes!) linked together as a surname. Well, if the Slytherins don't believe the evidence that's right in front of their faces at the very least it might confuse the hell out of them, which at least is a step towards questioning their beliefs. _

_This whole plan seemed a lot easier in theory. Kind of like D.A.D.A. theory vs. practice. Really fighting is difficult. Really standing up to evil. _

_I can't stop thinking about what Alek said. This was probably what he intended, to make me think about it but not push me into anything. Thinking about it is one thing, but doing it...I don't know if I have what it takes, even if the reasons are right. I should never go back to Durmstrang. I wonder if they'll let me go again next summer. _

* * *

_May 17, 1942_

_Mum and Dad said I can go to Durmstrang again. As soon as they said yes I got really nervous, but I can't change my mind now without explaining why. Okay, I could make something up but I don't want to. It's hard to explain. There are things happening. There are things I need to know._

* * *

Aleksandr Varsky, now sixteen, had grown a lot in a year. He was still lanky but now leanly muscled, and there were patches on his pale wolfish face where his beard was coming in. His expressions were unreadable. He was an even better duelist.

The training was tougher this year, and more focused on stealth and strategy. The students were sorted randomly into two teams, each given a base of operations and allowed to battle for hours at a time, until one team captured the opponent's base. Nobody ever surrendered, they always fought to the last soldier, and some of the hexes would've caused permanent damage if not for the Mediwitch on site.

Then the instructors changed the game, and players were now allowed to defect to the other side if they desired, and light torture (such as the tickling charm) was allowed for purposes of obtaining information. Fewer soldiers 'died' that way, but the battle became much more complex.

"Why do you think they did that?" Aleksandr asked Tom, sitting down next to him at dinner.

"There are lots of ways to wage war."

Alek nodded and began to cut up his steak. "I think in the future it will all come down to information. It won't matter how much firepower one nation has over another, but the accuracy of their information. With the right information you can sway the world, but people have to listen. Last November, the Polish Underground reported on the Chelmno camp. They sent the report to Britain. Did you listen? No. And in the spring of this year, more reports about other camps were sent to Britain and the U.S...but has anyone published them? No. I bet you haven't heard a thing about it."

"You're right, I haven't. What happens in these camps?"

Alek took a bite of steak. "They round up people by the thousands, the tens of thousands, Jews, mostly, but gypsies, homosexuals, and anyone who opposes the Nazis, and put them in these camps, where-"

A girl at the table said something to Alek in German, and they began to argue. Eventually, the girl slammed down her plate and left, and Alek continued as if he hadn't been interrupted, "Terrible things happen in the camps, Tom. The worst, most unimaginable kinds of things, but we have to imagine them. Innocent people are being tortured, killed, burned and shoveled into mass graves."

Alek took another bite. Tom just stared at his own plate. "I'm sorry, I've ruined your appetite," said the older boy.

"Do the German citizens know about this?"

"I doubt they believe that Jews are actually being 'resettled'. But if you disagree with the Nazis..."

"They send you to a camp."

Alek took a sip of juice, then cast several privacy spells around them. "I'm going to do something tonight. The offer from last year still stands."

"Why not just kill Hitler?"

Alek sighed, then laughed bitterly. "He has his own wizards, and they're very powerful, the kind of wizards that don't need to go to school to learn magic, the kind that the Wizarding World never talks about. Don't look so surprised. Hitler is obsessed with magic...what Muggles call the _occult_. Maybe an exceedingly clever spy could get near him, but I'm not that clever. No, I focus on trains...trains carrying Nazis on leave, and trains bringing people to the camps."

Tom's throat felt dry, but he was worried that he might choke if he tried to drink. Suddenly he wished he were home instead, listening to Hermione talk about something, _anything_, while petting one of the Kneazles, but he pushed that thought away and asked, "So, how do you do it, exactly?"

Alek fixed him with a calculating expression. "This isn't some kids' game. You cannot repeat what I tell you to _anyone_."

"I know."

"With a Swedish train, I Disillusion myself and fly alongside on my broomstick looking for high-ranking officers, if possible. If I'm taking out a single target, I wait for them to go to the toilet or to get some air between cars. The Killing Curse is indistinguishable from a heart attack or aneurysm to Muggles, and there are lots of desolate parts of Sweden where someone could go missing if they wanted to defect. For multiple targets, the trick is you can't take too many at once or it looks suspicious. I've staged derailments and fires. I've Imperiused fights that turned deadly. I try to provide a rational explanation because believe me, there are wizards and witches who would come after me if they knew, and not just Nazis. I don't think I have to tell you that I could go to prison for life for what I've done."

Tom nodded, as it fully dawned on him that he was looking at a killer. Even if Alek's actions were justified (and Tom wasn't _entirely_ sure they were), he was still a killer. "You said you look for high-ranking officers. How do you identify them?"

"I have access to information."

"What about your soul? Doesn't killing people tear apart your soul?"

Alek took another bite, chewed it slowly, swallowed. "You know how I said my parents and I came here from Germany? I lied. They were killed in Berlin four years ago, trying to defend our neighborhood during Kristallnacht, while I was here at school. You see, my heart was already broken. So, why not my soul?"

Tom feel ill. Alek pushed back his chair, preparing to stand, and said, "You don't have to do what I do. I could still use help in other areas. But I understand if you can't. This isn't really your fight, and if you've got a family you must think of them. You seem like a good kid-"

"What about the other sort of train?"

Aleksandr smiled.

It took four Apparitions to make it to Poland, and Tom couldn't help but vomit when they arrived. "At least you didn't eat any dinner," said Alek, putting up a ward that shielded them from view.

Tom looked down the tracks and saw a train slowly approaching from the horizon. His heart began to race. Alek appeared calm. "I'm going to handle the engine first. The train will stop, and the armed guards will come out. There will be fewer than you think. Locking people in boxcars means you don't need as many guards. I'll handle them, then give the all-clear signal. A blue spark. After that, we open the cars. Then comes the hard part...convincing five thousand people that they were on their way to their death, that they can't go home, that they have to take this envelope I'm offering, and to believe that they'll be magically transported somewhere safe when they touch the banknote inside."

Aleksandr set down the two large rucksacks he was carrying. One read _U.S.,_ the other read _Canada, _"Did you make all these Portkeys? And where'd you get the money?" asked Tom.

"_Shh_, it's time. I'll Disillusion you, too, just in case, but don't jump in without signaling me. I don't want to accidentally hurt you."

Soon they were both invisible, as was Alek's broomstick. The train was very close now, steam rising from the black locomotive. Alek said, "If I die, use a Portkey and get out of here."

Before Tom could answer, he heard the other boy kick off. The train crawled by and nothing seemed to happen for a while, but then there was a loud hiss. The steam abruptly stopped and the train began to gradually slow down until it ground to a halt. There was a lot of muffled yelling, from the people inside the cars, Tom thought, but there were also several sharp cries and words shouted in Polish and German. Just as Alek had said, armed guards appeared and began to make their way to the locomotive. They fell one by one in utter bafflement and panic, spraying bullets at nothing in particular. After the fifth or sixth, Tom couldn't watch anymore. He looked up at the pale lavender clouds, hanging low in the evening sky, and wondered about the sort of God who would look down on a scene like this. Minutes passed, with just the murmuring voices of the people in the boxcars and the soft thumps of their hands against the walls. There was one last shot followed by one last cry, and then Tom saw the blue spark. An instant later, Alek Apparated next to him. He was drenched in sweat, hair plastered to his forehead in spikes. He swayed slightly. Tom's face went pale as he saw the bullet wound in the bicep of his wand arm. "You any good at healing spells?"

"Yes," he said, recalling the spells Ashley had taught him.

The wound was gushing. Blood had already soaked the sleeve and was dripping off his fingertips. "Fix it, Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore."

Tom fixed it. They grabbed the rucksacks, Alek drank a few potions, and then they walked over to the train instead of Apparating, to give the blond boy a chance to regain some strength. They opened all fifty boxcars with the help of the freed prisoners. Alek was right, it wasn't easy to explain the truth of the situation. It took a few demonstrations to prove that they were wizards and that the Portkeys were safe. After a volunteer Portkeyed away with Alek and returned queasy but unharmed, with a positive report of the destination, people began to reach out for the envelopes. Within three hours, everyone was gone. "Alek, those Portkeys...they don't come back here, right?"

"One-way tickets. I had a different Portkey for the demonstration."

"How many times have you done this?"

"This was the fourth."

"That's twenty thousand people!"

"For every train I stop, dozens get through," he said flatly. "Do you want to destroy the locomotive, or shall I?"

Tom pointed his wand at the engine and said, "Confringo."

The explosion was magnificent. Alek raised his Shield around them both just in time to prevent them being perforated by shrapnel. The part of the locomotive that remained was melted and fused to the track. Alek said, "_Well._ You're good at that. Care to go bigger?"

"Bigger?"

"Do this whole area of track, make a crater as deep and wide as possible, so it will take them a long time to fix."

They mounted the broomstick to get a bird's eye view. Tom was in front, and he could smell Alek's blood when he reached forward to point at a spot on the tracks about ten meters in front of the destroyed train. "Aim there."

Tom gripped the broomstick tightly with his left hand and aimed his wand with his right. He had never been very keen on broomstick flying; there wasn't much of a seat, and he couldn't help but be terrified of falling off. He glanced over his shoulder at Alek, who flicked his wand at the broom and said, "Sticking charm. Relax, you won't fall. Focus on the spell. Anger helps with this one."

Tom thought about the people in the boxcars, about the people in the camps, about the people all over the world who were living in fear and misery. He thought about the death and inhumanity and horror of the war. These things made him feel sick and sad, but his anger didn't spill over until Alek whispered, "Imagine if this was all happening in the Wizarding world. Imagine if the trains were full of Muggleborns."

It shouldn't have made the difference, because people were people and every life was equally important, but the idea of Hermione being killed _just for being born_ made his blood boil. He screamed the curse this time, and the earth opened up.

It took all of Alek's remaining strength to Apparate them back to Durmstrang. He collapsed into bed and was unconscious within seconds. Tom listened closely to make sure that he was breathing, did some cleaning charms on his clothes, and removed his shoes.

Tom felt strangely blank, considering what they'd just done. He got out his quill and paper and wrote his daily letter:

"_Dear Mum and Dad (+ Everyone), _

_Sorry if this is a little late, I stayed up late studying with a friend. Do you know how many interesting uses there are for Portkeys? _

_Love, Tom."_

He sent the owl off. He fully expected to have trouble falling asleep. He didn't.

At breakfast the next morning Aleksandr looked no worse for wear (he'd looked a little worn to begin with), but Tom's mind had thawed from its numbed state and begun to race. What would he have done if Alek had been killed? Would he have had the strength to continue the mission and free the prisoners from the train, even if he had to kill a few people, or would he have fled as Alek had instructed? What if he'd screwed up and been shot, too? What if wizards had shown up? How would he have explained it to the Wizengamot, or the Durmstrang Highmaster, or his family for that matter? He was already guilty of being an accessory to Alek's killings, even if he hadn't personally used any Unforgivable curses. Yet, this was _wartime_. Did that make what Alek was doing _less wrong_? By whose standards would they be judged and punished?

Tom thought of Azkaban, of the Dementors' Kiss. He thought of people dying by the thousands, being shot and gassed and starved. He knew that it was worth risking death in order to save innocent people, that it was part of being heroic, but he felt a panic attack coming on, his first in months.

He looked at the other boy, who was tapping his spoon on the shell of a poached egg. Alek met his gaze and cast the privacy charms. "Tom, you're safe. You're not going to die."

"Yes, I am!"

"Well...we all die someday."

This statement didn't help to alleviate Tom's feeling of impending doom. He broke out in a cold sweat. Alek said, "You aren't dying _now. _But, you know, if you _really_ don't want to die, ever, there _is _a way to avoid it. I've thought about making a horcrux. I could take even bigger risks if I were immortal, and I've got everything I need to do it."

Tom was so shocked that he half-forgot about his panic attack. "They _teach_ you that here?"

"Only in theory. They withhold the incantation. It wasn't hard to find, though."

Tom regarded him with amazement. "Why are you still at school?"

"I want to graduate. The war will end someday, and life will continue. Also, this is a perfect base of operations."

"How did you get so good at magic?"

"Study and practice. There's no mystery to it. Have you ever heard the phrase 'wisdom makes the wizard?' For me it's more like _knowledge_, because I can't say I'm wise in the slightest."

"I think you're brilliant."

Alek offered him a crooked grin. "You did a superb job last night. Feeling better yet?"

Tom realised that his panic attack had ended before it hit its usual climax of terror, and that he actually felt _good_. "Yeah...did you do something?"

"I sent you feelings of comfort and safety, reflecting the emotions you feel about your family. Please trust that I'd never Imperius you. It's temporary, to calm you down from this..._panic attack_ you were having. I can't say I've ever heard of such a thing. Is it a medical term from the future?"

The dark haired boy nervously averted his eyes. Aleksandr chuckled softly and said, "Oh, Tom...I saw about the time machine and the time travelers the first day I met you. Besides, all throughout your memory, certain people close to you don't age. It's harder to notice with David, Michael, and Ashley, because they're older, but Hermione and Harry are _always_ about sixteen. Haven't you wondered about that?"

"Of course. They travel through time a lot, still."

"But they always come back to you. Why?"

"They're part of my family, even though we aren't blood relations."

"How did that happen?"

"In their travels they became close friends with my parents, before I was born. They're like aunts and uncles to me."

"Why haven't they taken you to their present, ever?"

"They say a terrible war is on in the Wizarding world, in their time. They haven't been back, either."

"War there, and war here. I see you've asked about preventing _this _war, and that it's impossible. I also see you've been warned not to make prophecies or even talk about the future. But will you please confirm that what I've seen in your mind is true? Germany surrenders on May 8, 1945. Just nod if it's true."

Tom nodded. Aleksandr's expression was impenetrable, as were his thoughts. "We _win_, in three more years," he said quietly. "We win. But by then, _millions_ will have died. I wonder why your family didn't tell you about the camps."

"They don't tell me everything. I get very...personally upset by things, well, you just saw how I panic. That used to happen a lot. They're trying to spare me from the pain of knowing about things I can't prevent. I'm sorry I can't handle it better, or I would have more information. I know I've lived a very sheltered life compared to you."

"No, Tom, it's all right. I can imagine how such future knowledge could drive one to insanity, and I understand why your family wants to protect you. Keeping you safe is for their sake, too. They see that you care deeply about human suffering, and perhaps want to stop you from putting yourself in danger. I don't know if I could do what I do if my parents were still alive. But _you_...you've already put yourself in danger by going on that mission with me. I don't know if that's disregard for the agony your parents would feel if they lost you, uncommon dedication to what's right, or some other motivation that I can't understand, but the fact is you helped save those people and I bet you'd do it again."

"When's the next mission?"

"I have to make more Portkeys."

"Can I help?"

After class and late into each evening for the next week and a half, the boys turned twenty-dollar notes into Portkeys. Aleksandr could program one every fifteen seconds or so. Tom was much slower, but he hadn't had years of practice. Tom asked again about where the cash came from, and Alek told him that he had help from American and Canadian wizards who lived undercover with Muggles and assisted the people Alek sent with the Portkeys. Alek told him that he wasn't the only wizard in Europe trying to help people escape in this manner, but that they worked alone or in groups of two or three at the most to avoid detection. Tom knew that the more information Alek gave him the deeper he got into this underground network, and eventually he would feel compelled to take on a more active role in the missions. If there was a time to get out, this was it, while his soul was still intact...but Tom was no longer sure it was _true_ that killing damaged the soul. _What are the signs and symptoms of a damaged soul?_ Tom wondered one night while looking at Alek. He couldn't detect any soul-damage from the boy's appearance, and his behavior towards his fellow students was kind, even while dueling. Some of them could be vicious, using spells harsher than necessary during practice and humiliating and cursing an opponent after they'd fallen. A couple had even used Cruciatus on each other during a fight to settle a personal disagreement (staged on their own time, in the woods), a fight that Alek had stopped. Aleksandr killed Nazis, but he wasn't sadistic. Tom was at a loss to explain him. One evening, he suddenly recalled the words of the Sorting Hat: _No-one with a broken soul would feel the need to worry so._ "Do you worry about turning evil?"

Alek didn't look up from his spellwork. "Why? Because of what I've done?"

"Yes."

"No. The Nazis can't be allowed to commit such atrocious acts with impunity. Believe me, I wish I didn't have to kill anyone, but until the Muggle world governments stop what's happening I'll do whatever's necessary to save as many people as I can. I don't think that's evil."

"You don't feel _bad_ for killing them?"

"I feel bad that I became a killer, but as for my conscience, no, it doesn't weigh on me in the slightest. They would _burn me_, Tom."

Just because Alek wasn't worried about turning evil didn't _prove_ that he had a broken soul. The Sorting Hat had said that nobody with a broken soul _would _worry, not that anyone who didn't worry had a broken soul. Tom might have felt more comfortable if his friend had admitted to even a faint whisper of doubt over his actions, but then again, that would mean he had considered that his actions would make him evil and had chosen to continue anyway.

Was it better to willfully embrace darkness or to slip into it through self-righteous delusion?

Tom suddenly began to write more letters to Violet, lighthearted letters full of fantasy and flirtation, the likes of which he'd never written before. It occurred to him that he was trying to prove that he was still loving, thoughtful, grateful, gentle, kind; all of the virtues his family had instilled in him. She replied to every letter, and she seemed happy despite living in occupied France. On July 15th, he shyly asked if she would like it if he came to visit. At dinner the next evening he received her response:

"_Dear Tom, _

_I would love to see you. _

_I must warn you, though, things are awful here. The police are rounding up all the foreign Jews. It started this morning. My parents are trying to get documents for their friends. _

_Still, please come if you can. _

_Love, _

_Violet"_

Tom wasn't sure he believed in fate. His father put little faith in Divination, and Tom had been raised as a skeptic, but he now felt like he was holding an invitation to his destiny. He showed the letter to Alek. "I know you specialize in trains, but I thought you might want to see this."

"Do you trust her?"

"Yes, completely. I've known her since we were children."

"Have you told her about what we do?"

"Of course not. 'Don't tell anyone' means don't tell _anyone_."

"You would make an excellent spy."

"Especially now that I can Apparate. So, what shall we do?"

"I would pass this information on to one of my French contacts, but I see you want to handle it personally. Tell me how you would go about it."

"We find out where they're being taken, we Apparate in and use the Portkeys, as usual."

"There will be a lot more guards than on the trains."

"Imperius to not attract attention, AK if we need it."

"What about wizards?"

"We're both skilled fighters."

"We are fifteen and sixteen. I seem like a skilled fighter because you've only seen me fight Muggles and schoolchildren."

"You're better than anyone at this school!"

"But I'm still a _student_, and so are you. If we face off against adult wizards who are trying to kill us, there's a very strong chance we'll lose. You can't help people if you're dead."

"Then make the damned horcrux already!"

Alek absentmindedly rubbed the back of his hand over the sparse whiskers on his chin and calmly asked, "Do you think I should?"

Tom's agitation faded. "I don't know."

Aleksandr closed his eyes and tilted his head back against his bed frame. "I don't know, either. If we're to believe my soul is already damaged just from killing, what difference does it make if I seal a piece of it in an object? It could be a pebble in a field...or in a forest of gigantic old trees, with just the sunlight and the sound of birds and a stream running through, clean and innocent, far from the war..."

As he trailed off, his expression opened up, fully displaying his weariness and sorrow. "We don't have to do this," Tom said gently. "I'll just go visit Violet, and you alert your French contacts."

Alek opened his eyes and shook his head, face like a mask again. He stood and grabbed up the magically extended bags containing the Portkeys, two broomsticks, potions, and other supplies, and they Apparated to Violet's address in Paris. Tom rang the doorbell. After a long pause, Violet's blue eyes appeared at the pane of glass next to the door, and a moment later she was on the stoop, hugging Tom tightly, her fair hair tickling his face. She smelled of orange blossom, and her willowy figure felt like perfection pressed up against his body. She sized up Alek, then glanced around nervously and gestured them over the threshold. "My parents are out. They told me not to open up the door for anyone, but it's _you_."

"How do you know I'm not a spy?"

"Tom, don't joke."

Her cheeks were flushed and she was tugging nervously at the cuff of her shirt. Alek caught her gaze for a moment and said, "The people in the wine cellar. We can get them to safety."

Violet's eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. "H-how...who are you?"

"Alek is a wizard, too. He's telling the truth. We really _can_ help," said Tom.

The family hiding in the basement chose to relocate to Canada. "What about the others?" asked Violet.

"Do you know where they're being held?"

"The indoor cycling stadium, Vel d'Hiv, sorry, _Vélodrome d'Hiver_."

Aleksandr said, "Probably Drancy, as well...an internment camp northeast of Paris."

He cast his Patronus, and said to it: "Message for Justine: Priority Drancy. Engaging Vel d'Hiv."

The shining bear disappeared through the wall. "What? What was? What?" stammered Violet.

"Magic tricks," said Alek, flashing her a smile.

She turned to Tom, "What are you doing?"

"We're going to help those people."

"I'm coming along."

"No, Violet-"

"I'm not going to sit here and be useless! What is it, _too dangerous_?"

"It's not like that. Please, listen...take a bunch of these Portkeys, and when your parents get home, explain to them that they're better than any identity papers they could find for their friends. Have you told them about magic?"

She nodded, blushing. "I've told them a lot about you."

"That's good, they'll believe you. Help people escape before they're rounded up in the first place. It's equally important and dangerous as what Alek and I will be doing. If you're caught by the police, use a Portkey. I will find you when it's over."

She reached out and stroked his cheek, and then kissed him very deliberately on the mouth, as if she'd thought about it for a long time, which she had. He returned her kiss, while Alek examined a framed print on the wall.

Vel d'Hiv was already packed with people when they arrived, and more were being brought in. Tom and Alek took plenty of time to observe the situation. There were no bathrooms and barely any food or water. A few relief groups and a few doctors and nurses were allowed in, but it was hardly sufficient for the thousands of people being held there, which included a large percentage of women and children. The heat was terrible, and so was the smell. Some people tried to escape and were shot on the spot. Some committed suicide. "Wait. We have to wait," said Alek, sensing his friend's impatience increasing with the aura of desperation inside the building.

"Wait for what?"

"For the roundup to be complete."

He sighed, then added, "We may miss class."

More people were brought in through the night and into the next day, but by the time night fell on the 17th, the numbers had slackened. Eventually, all of the guards retreated outside and barricaded every possible route of escape. When nothing changed for three more hours, Alek took a final count. "Seven thousand, seven hundred and sixty four. We don't have enough Portkeys. People will have to share."

They worked as quickly as possible to get everyone out. A blessing arrived in the form of one of the Red Cross workers, a very young witch called Claire who attended Beauxbatons and was working undercover like Alek. She immediately caught on to the plan and prevented the other Red Cross workers from blowing their cover, while enlisting their help in handing out the Portkeys. Tom and Aleksandr patrolled the perimeter. Alek set up protection charms to keep the guards out, along with a charm that simulated the sound of seven thousand people talking, so as not to draw suspicion as things quieted down inside. Everything was going well, and only about a hundred prisoners remained when there was a loud crack, or rather, a series of nearly simultaneous cracks. Three wizards in Nazi uniform materialized on the bicycle track, each with a wand in one hand and a gun in the other. Claire, Tom, and Aleksandr cast their Shields, putting up a huge blue barrier around themselves and the remaining Muggles, who grabbed at the Portkeys in a panic. "Sie sind Kinder," said one of the wizards, frowning. "Ich Hätte Mehr erwartet."

"What'd he say?" whispered Tom, trying not to panic.

"He didn't expect us to be kids."

"Portkeys, die was vieles erklärt. Sind Hallo, Sie die Zug-Räuber?"

The wizard to his left smiled and said, "Halten Sie Ihre Fragen, bis sie gefoltert werden."

Alek whispered, "He suspects we're behind the train escapes. The other one wants to hold off on the questions until we're being tortured."

Tom glanced behind him. There were only about a dozen people left, all men who seemed hesitant to leave the three teenagers. "Go!" shouted Tom. "Get out of here!"

"Ah, English," said the third officer. "Listen, kids, you've been very brave but it's time to give up now. We won't have to hurt you if you come along without resisting."

"You'll torture us for information, then kill us!" yelled Tom.

The first officer glared at the second one, who was still smiling. Tom was starting to get tired from keeping his Shield up at maximum strength and projection, and when he glanced at his two friends, he saw they were beginning to sweat, too. It would only be a matter of time before they had to stop out of exhaustion. Tom looked back and was relieved to see that everyone had left. Alek whispered as quietly as possible, "We're outmatched. They've most likely put up an Anti-Apparation Jinx to trap us in here. We'll have to Portkey out, and they know that. They're waiting for it...likely hoping to uncover more of our network."

"But, aren't Portkeys untraceable?"

"Most wizards think so, but it's not true. There's no such thing as an untraceable Portkey. Every Disapparition and every Portkey leaves a subtle trail that can be followed if one is skilled enough and the trail is fresh enough. We can't run forever, and they know that, too."

"What are we going to do?"

With his free hand, Alek reached behind him towards the bag marked 'Canada' and said, "Accio broomsticks."

Two broomsticks flew out of the bag. He mounted one and handed the other to Tom. "Get on, both of you."

The third Nazi officer couldn't help but laugh. "You can't possibly think you can fly out of here. We could penetrate your Shields in an instant, if we wanted. Please, this is your last chance to come willingly. I know you couldn't have done this alone. If you tell us who helped you, I promise you will not be harmed."

Aleksandr lowered his shield and cast a quick privacy charm. "Tom, if you look at the neck of your broom, you'll see a small piece of black string tied in a bow around it. It's a Portkey. When the bow is untied it will send the broomstick and anyone on it one hundred meters above our current location. I have one on my broom, too. I'm going to count to three. It is imperative that you pull the string when I say three. Leave the bags. _One_."

Alek reached into his pocket and took out a coin. Tom moved his free hand to the string and gripped it tightly. "Two."

The coin turned into something that looked like a toaster. "Three."

Alek saw Tom and Claire disappear. An instant later, he pulled the string on his broomstick and simultaneously pushed the button on the radio transmitter.

Aleksandr, Tom and Claire floated above the fiery pit where the Vélodrome d'Hiver used to be. The Nazi officers did not appear to have made it out in time. "Bomb in the bag?" asked Tom.

"Bombs in both bags. Transfigured transmitter in my pocket."

"You could've said."

"Sorry, I didn't think it would come to that. I've never used anything like that before. We're lucky that they underestimated us. It probably won't happen again."

Claire was quietly crying, her tears hitting the nape of Tom's neck, but when he turned to comfort her he saw that she was smiling.


	31. Chapter 31

[this chapter contains the f-word, and a little bit of gore. I haven't gone completely off the deep end...all this stuff is relevant to my oddball plot, I promise.]

* * *

Chapter 31 -_ Operation: Raising Tom Riddle, _part 4

* * *

Tom was shaking by the time he and Aleksandr made it back to Violet's house. _If those wizards had taken us seriously as a threat..._Tom envisioned the torture, a slow and horrible death in a concrete bunker, never to see his family again and they never to know what had happened to him. Dying in pain and fear, alone. Nothing could stop the panic attack this time.

Alek sat beside him on the stoop, offering quiet words of reassurance, but the horrible feeling just kept erupting, wave after wave of terror. The sound of gunfire and screams and children crying and bodies hitting the ground and explosions all blended together into a cacophony that would not relent.

It felt like it went on for a very long time. At some point he became aware that Violet was there, too, on the step above him, pressing her hands into his shoulders. "All right, Tom. All right. Would you like to come inside and have some tea?"

He met her parents in a tear-streaked daze. They made extra sandwiches for him and Aleksandr, and thanked them both for the Portkeys. Tom was dimly aware of Alek talking to them, suggesting they return to Britain or offering to Apparate them somewhere...Tom couldn't focus on the details. Everything was hazy, as if viewed through gauze or cobwebs. The bone china teacup in his hand was rattling against the saucer. There was a shout from the street, and he bolted upright. "Ready to go?" asked Alek quietly.

Violet saw them to the door, even though they were going to Apparate. Alek waited outside while she said goodbye to Tom. She hugged him and stroked his disheveled hair, told him he was a good person, and to write her and not to worry. She kissed him on the cheek and on the forehead, because she could see that he wasn't well.

Aleksandr handled the Apparitions. The grounds of Durmstrang were dark and hissing with summer insects. Tom heard snakes in the tall grass whispering 'come to me', voices soft and plaintive, and he wanted to lie down among them. A moment later, he would have done, he felt so compelled, but with a sudden pang he realised that he was only hearing their mating call; it was not for him. He was a slave to his human existence and there was no escape. He let out an odd, high-pitched laugh. Alek turned and locked him in a stare, gray eyes filled with alarm. "Tom, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought you into this. I was desperate for company and it was wrong of me to put you in danger and push you so hard. You asked me if I was afraid of turning evil, and now I am. I'm afraid and I'm sorry."

"No, listen...this isn't...I'm not going _mental_ or anything. I'm not going to have a breakdown and become a liability for you. It's just one hell of a long panic attack."

The blond boy very gently and subtly insinuated his psychic feelers deeper into Tom's mind, to the core of his fear and the thoughts surrounding it. Alek blinked and then said, "Please don't do it."

"Do what?"

"Make a horcux. Don't you _know_ you're thinking about it?"

Tom wiped a hand across his forehead. "Am I?"

"Oh, Tom..._yes_, you are. I don't want your soul to be destroyed. Maybe that's not what a horcrux really does, but if it is I don't want that happening to you. You are a good boy."

"So are you."

Alek shook his head. "My childhood ended four years ago. You might think it was when my parents were killed, but no. It was the first time I took a life."

Tom imagined twelve-year-old Alek killing someone, and contrasted that with what he'd been doing at age twelve, as a second year at Hogwarts. The difference in experience was so stark, Tom supposed that he really was still a frightened child compared to his friend, but considered that maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.

The panic attack had finally faded, and now he was left with an aching feeling in his chest. Joy and sorrow were tugging his heart in two irreconcilable directions. He wanted comfort, love, and gentleness, and he wanted everyone else to have these things, too. He desperately wanted to go home, and he wanted Alek to have a home to go to. He would be happy because he was grateful for all his blessings, but he would never be _perfectly_ happy again, not while his friend was sad, not while _anyone_ suffered, and somehow that felt right. It felt like the very least he could do. "I promise I won't do it. Don't you do it, either."

Aleksandr nodded, and Tom saw that things worked the other way, too. Alek needed to believe that good people existed, or he wouldn't be able to go on fighting for them. If there were no joy left in the world, his sorrow was meaningless.

As they entered the castle they nearly slammed into the Highmaster, who boomed, "My office, now."

Tom's blood felt like it had been replaced with ice water as they followed behind the Highmaster. He looked at Alek, who just shook his head once and yawned, making the point that there was no reason to be concerned, yet.

Despite Alek's nonchalance, Tom still expected to see Aurors, Dementors, French police, Nazis, or maybe one of each waiting in the Highmaster's office, but certainly not his father with Fawkes perched on his shoulder. Albus didn't look angry, only worried. As soon as he caught sight of Tom he leapt to his feet, just as Tom threw himself into his arms. "I forgot to write last night."

"Mum was worried. She made me contact the Institute and they said you and Aleksandr hadn't shown up for class today and couldn't be found on the grounds. What happened?"

Tom regained his composure and took a step back. "I got it into my head that I needed to see Violet. I made Alek go with me. It's not his fault."

"You went to Paris?"

"I had to see her."

"I think I understand," said Albus, eyes twinkling. "Well, you're all right. That's what's important."

"Excuse me," intoned the Highmaster. "But it is not the policy of Durmstrang Institute to operate as a hotel. Our students are expected to adhere to the rules, which include a strict curfew and a zero tolerance policy for absenteeism without a medical note."

Tom said, "I'm sorry, sir. I had a panic attack, so we stayed the night. We would've been back before curfew and been at class, if not for that."

Albus perked up. "In fact, my son does suffer from a medical condition, attacks which can last for hours at a time. I can have his doctor owl you-"

"Unacceptable."

Tom said, "But-"

"Do you realize that Aleksandr Varsky is the most promising wizard of the century? I will not have him debauched and distracted by the likes of _you_. Chase skirts on your own time! You will leave my student alone!"

"Highmaster, you offend me," said Alek. "To imply that Violet is anything less than the most respectable well-mannered young lady, and to insinuate that Tom is anything less than a perfect gentleman is simply insulting. My good friend Tom has known Miss Violet since childhood and we were paying a friendly visit to her home when there was an explosion in the city center. It frightened all of us and it caused Tom have one of these panic attacks. To travel in such a state would've been unsafe. He was nervous to distraction and could've easily been splinched. You can't possibly have wished him to be splinched, or for me to leave my friend in distress."

"No, of course not, but there are certain _rules_. If Tom is not well enough to continue studying here, he must return home immediately."

Tom hadn't slept in nearly forty hours and it showed. It would have been easy to make a case for exhaustion, but he said, "I'd like to finish out the last twelve days of the program, Highmaster, sir."

"It's your father's decision."

Albus cleared his throat. "Well, these attacks are rare, and they aren't a health risk. I doubt it will happen again. Still..."

He turned to Aleksandr and continued, "What do you think, Mr Varsky?"

Alek appeared openly nervous for once. Tom knew that the older boy was only concerned for Tom's well-being but he felt a slight sting when their eyes met briefly and he saw that Alek wished he would go home. "Sir, your son is extremely talented and has progressed a lot in his studies here. If he wants to stay, I think he should be allowed to stay."

The phoenix suddenly let loose a piercing cry and flew over to rest on Alek's shoulder. Fawkes began to sing very quietly, and the boy's expression became either agonized or ecstatic, it was hard to tell. Tears came pouring down his face, unstoppable, and he reached both hands up to press them over his heart. "_Oh_," he said.

"Varsky, are you all right?" asked the Highmaster, shocked.

"Y-yes. The explosion...frightened all of us."

Alek closed his eyes and focused on the blissful feelings of warmth, courage, and calm that flowed from the fire-colored bird. Fawkes continued to sing for a few minutes, as Aleksandr stood stock-still. Albus remarked, "Such a long song, for one so young."

Eventually the phoenix fell silent, then took a turn sitting on Tom's shoulder before returning to Albus, who asked, "Feeling better?"

They both nodded.

"Okay, then! See you in twelve days, Tom."

His father smiled. The Highmaster bellowed, "Get to bed, the both of you!"

They walked together in silence to the dormitory. All of the other boys were already asleep. They crawled into their beds, and before Tom blew out his lantern he asked, "Why'd you say I should stay, when I know what you were thinking?"

Alek was lying flat on his back, eyes closed. "You didn't regret it...any of it. Even though you want to go home and forget about all this, you're too brave and stubborn to turn away. I can't argue with that."

"Did Fawkes make you afraid?"

"Afraid? No...it felt like...healing."

"That means you're pure of heart. So, you don't have to worry about turning evil. I don't think the Sorting Hat knows everything. I'd rather trust Fawkes than the hat. Though...I wonder what house you'd be in."

Alek began to snore lightly. Tom put out his light and continued, "Probably Gryffindor. Ah, but you plan for everything, and you don't want to glorified as a hero. Slytherin seems appropriate, and to tell you the truth, _I'm_ desperate for company, too...but...I wouldn't call you ambitious. You said study and practice made you this good...that sounds very Ravenclaw, but you also _get stuff done_. Hmmm...well...I guess it's Hufflepuff, then...hard work and determination...loyalty...patience...and nobody would ever..._ever_...suspect a Hufflepuff...and maybe you'd even be...happy..."

Fawkes' song reverberating in his subconscious mind, Tom dreamed that he was a snake in a forest, basking on a sun-dappled rock beside a stream of cool clean water.

For the next twelve days, they didn't disobey a single school rule or break any local, international, moral, or magical laws. They didn't go on another mission. Alek wanted to lay low in case other Nazi wizards were on the lookout for whoever had used magic at the Vel D'Hiv. The officer who had connected the Portkeys to the train interceptions hadn't lived to report his suspicion, but Alek wanted to rethink his strategy, just in case he encountered wizards on his next outing. Besides, he needed time to make Portkeys. More money arrived from the U.S. and Canada, and Tom helped him in the evenings. Before they knew it, it was time to say goodbye.

They stood on the lawn, Tom with a duffel bag at his feet, Aleksandr with nothing. Tom had noticed on the first day of class two summers ago that Alek had very few personal possessions: two pairs of trousers, four shirts, his school robes, and the two extendable bags, which were now destroyed along with all their contents. As far as Tom could tell he had no memento of his family, not even a photograph. Tom asked, "What'll you do after you graduate?"

"Stay on and teach Dark Arts. The Highmaster is very excited about it."

"At Hogwarts we call it _Defense Against_ the Dark Arts."

"Oh, you know Durmstrang...we have a reputation to uphold."

They shared a laugh. Tom said, "And you'll still..."

"Yes, of course."

"I don't want to stop, either. But I'm not sure what to do."

"Go home. Study. Practice. Write to me."

"You can visit whenever you'd like-"

Alek suddenly stepped forward and hugged him stiffly and very tightly, then abruptly broke the contact, and said, "I'm sorry. Was that wrong?"

Tom remembered how Violet had hugged him, kissed him, caressed his hair and face, how she had pressed her hands into his shoulders, and he thought about how he had leapt into his father's open arms, been comforted by that welcoming touch. Now he pictured Alek in all those moments: standing aside, seemingly indifferent. Had he touched anyone in the past four years? He didn't need to ask to know the answer; Alek was blushing terribly. "No, it wasn't _wrong_."

Then Tom hugged the taller boy, longer perhaps than was deemed appropriate by society's standards, but he wasn't ashamed; it felt natural. He rocked his friend back and forth slightly, soothingly, before slowly pulling away and picking up his bag. They shook hands, exchanged one last look, and then Tom turned on the spot and vanished.

* * *

_The Diary of Tom Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore_

_October 18, 1943_

_Fifth year. School is like some kind of silly dream compared to the bigger world. Only weeks into this term and I'm already bored by classes. Dad is giving me all the 'extracurricular enrichment' he can think of, but of course, I've got my own. Fixing the "Slytherin problem" is exhausting...every year there's a new batch of brainwashed kids to deprogram. Alphard Black and Abraxas Malfoy have turned out to be loyal friends. Malfoy thinks status (wealth) is important but he doesn't care about the pureblood thing. Alphard doesn't really care about either and he thinks his family is a bunch of idiots, but he's just the quiet, super-polite and mannered type. He'd rather be a silent rebel than be disowned at this point in his life, you know?_

_Hermione is talking about founding a graduate school for witzies to attend after Hogwarts. I think that's a great idea. It would be good to have more options. As things stand, the options are: a) get married and settle down immediately after graduating, b) become a professor at Hogwarts, c) become an Auror or other government official, d) become a Healer, e) become a dragon researcher or some other ' magical scientist', f) corner the market on a product, à la Ollivander, g) open a pub?_

_I wonder why witzies don't go to Muggle universities. Certainly a witzie with a doctorate in physics or chemistry would be useful. And if we're EVER going to co-exist openly with Muggles, we need to know about their politics and history, don't we?_

_I wish everything made more sense._

_Well, if I do take option b), I'll teach D.A.D.A. and Muggle Studies, and if Hermione opens her grad school I'll teach there, too. Or I'll go into politics with Abraxas and we'll take over the witzie world. He can be Minister of Magic, I'll be director of the intelligence agency (which I'll probably have to found myself)._

_Seeing Hermione and Harry is odd now that we're all about the same age. I'm fifteen to their sixteen, but I'm taller than them. Thank Merlin that Hermione is still smarter than me or things could get weird. She says she's in love with some bloke named Ron, and Harry says he's in love with a girl named Ginny, and Ron and Ginny are siblings, and neither of them are time travelers. I guess things are already weird, huh?_

_I've been to see Violet once a month. Her family stayed in Paris, and they continue to help people hide and escape. Alek has been helping them._

_Alek and I haven't stopped._

* * *

_January 1, 1944_

_Today is my 16__th__ birthday. Violet and I did something that a gentleman shouldn't discuss. _

_I love her. I am so grateful for her. She is smart, kind, patient, and so brave. _

* * *

_April 19, 1944_

_I did something terrible. A seventh-year Slytherin girl cornered me in the Potions closet and kissed me and I kissed her back and things progressed further than they should have. I'm a horrible person. God, how could I do that to Violet? I want to die._

* * *

_April 20, 1944_

_I told Violet what I did and apologised so much...and she was hurt but she forgave me, and somehow it just makes it a million times worse and I feel even more horrible and undeserving of her. I am the biggest git in the world, worse than Salazar Slytherin. I don't know if there's a pit deep and dark enough for me to fall into. I RUINED EVERYTHING. _

* * *

_June 2, 1944_

_I did it. I had to do it. They'd put one of those torture-clamp things on Alek's hand, the kind of thing that doesn't come off unless the person who put it on takes it off, but there were too many of them and they were taking him somewhere where the torture-clamp was just the beginning so I did it and I don't regret it. After, Alek had to cut his hand off or the pain would've driven him insane. There was no other choice once the man who put it on him was dead. We still tried everything we could think of but he started screaming and then just cut off his hand with some spell. It bled so much even with the healing spells. I got him to St. Mungo's where they could've put his hand back on but that damned thing still wouldn't come off the severed hand and there was nothing they could do. Fuck whoever invented that thing and fuck the Nazis and fuck the war. Fuck this whole filthy pathetic excuse for a world._

_I did it and I don't feel any different. Just angry about Alek's hand. I'm probably in shock._

* * *

_July 8, 1944_

_I was in shock, but I still don't regret it. Alek is the bravest person I've ever met. He didn't even cry over losing his hand and it was his wand hand, too. He says every witzie is ambidextrous, it just takes extra practice with the non-dominant hand. He's already amazing with his left. Ridiculously talented wizard. _

_Oh, explaining it to Mum and Dad and everyone was a real treat. We didn't confess to any Unforgivables, of course, but the details were all true. We said we went to visit Violet and her friend Claire, and two French policemen stopped us and asked to see our papers, which wouldn't have been a problem except they weren't just Muggle police, they were undercover wizards who must've detected our Apparating there. The Nazis apparently have a special task force for finding wizards who might be helping people escape occupied countries, and the Vichy government is complying with this. Anyway, they said his papers were fake, and so he tried to Apparate and couldn't (they had an Anti-Disapparition forcefield or something, because they never drew their wands) and before he could try anything else they put that device on him, and he panicked and the rest was self-explanatory. _

_The idea of Alek cutting off his own hand was so grisly that nobody bothered asking how we got away from two powerful wizards. _

_Actually, there were four. I got three, Alek got one. I could make three horcruxes, but I won't, of course._

_Violet didn't think what I did was wrong, per se, but I could tell it terrified her. Her faith in my goodness has been replaced by doubt, __as it should be__...even though it hurts more than anything for me to accept that. I think it's safe to say that things are really over between us. _

_Alek has been recovering at our place. He'll go back to Durmstrang in late August, and I have half a mind to go with him, but he says I must graduate. I wonder if he didn't know the war was going to end in May, would he be so optimistic about the future? _

_Right now I'm ready to burn it all. I know I'm behaving irrationally...I'm sixteen. If my family ever read this diary I'm sure they would think I'm becoming a monster. I haven't even told you about the security measures I've put on it, have I? It's based on a Soviet spy encryption system that Alek explained to me, with a code that is randomly generated and only used once. Maybe that's a bit paranoid considering how trusting my family is, but I feel like it's more for their protection than mine. _

* * *

_May 8, 1945 _

_IT'S FINALLY OVER. The whole family and Alek took to the London streets with a million people and we saw the King and Queen and Winston Churchill on the Palace balcony. Alek couldn't stop crying with joy...I've never seen him so happy. _

_I guess life really does go on, and it's a good thing I'm going to graduate in a month. _

* * *

_June 23, 1945_

_I got top marks on all my exams. I can do whatever I want with the rest of my life. Alek is going to be a teacher and I guess I'll do that too, at least until I'm old enough to be taken seriously, politically speaking. Nobody wants a seventeen-year-old sitting on the Wizengamot. Though, Abraxas has been the British Youth Representative for the last five years, but he's another story. Anyway, with Abraxas in place and my dad as the Chief Warlock, it's there whenever I feel like stepping up. _

_I feel like I can finally breathe. It's like a massive weight has been lifted off of me. I just want to spend my life making sure there are no more wars. That might seem idealistic, but there isn't anything more important to me. Ah, well...there is Saskia Malacrea. We've been seeing each other since January. She's a brilliant Ravenclaw, she'll be going into her seventh year this fall. Long black hair, pale blue eyes, Muggleborn, a certified genius who studies particle physics! She was invited to participate in some kind of elite program in the United States this summer. She left right after she took her final exams without waiting for the results, and said she doesn't know how intense her workload is going to be, but if it isn't so bad maybe I can come visit her in America. _

* * *

_July 15, 1945_

_Saskia invited me! I'm meeting her at an old church in a town called Socorro, New Mexico at 3 am tomorrow (her time). She was very clear that I should not be late. _

* * *

"You said it was the middle of nowhere, Saskia, but I didn't quite believe you."

"Amazing, isn't it?"

He had met her at the pseudo-pueblo style church, but she had soon Apparated them both to a flat expanse of desert, where they appeared to be quite alone. He couldn't help but find her mysterious behaviour alluring. "It's beautiful. What's this place called?"

"_Jornada del Muerto_. Spanish for 'single day's journey of the dead man' or 'route of the dead man.' And I _am _dead if I get caught. I really _really_ shouldn't be doing this. I signed waivers and contracts. I could be fined and do jail time for inviting you here. This is top secret, no joke. I guess I must really like you, to do something so stupid."

Tom was impressed and a little nervous. "Who's around to catch you?"

"Oh, about two hundred people, in bunkers. All waiting," she checked her watch, then looked up at the sky. "It was supposed to be at 4 am, but it's cloudy and there's lightning, so we're waiting for the weather update. Let's go inside the bunker for a while."

He followed her into a small concrete structure, with a rectangular window at eye level, a walkie talkie, and some scientific-looking equipment in the corner. "What's going on here?"

She distracted him for about an hour, until the radio crackled and a voice said, "We have a positive weather report. Twenty-minute countdown begins at 05:10."

"Great. Time for a quick breakfast," she said, pulling a thermos of tea and some toast with jam out of her purse.

"Countdown to what?" asked Tom casually, between bites.

"Today we are testing the first nuclear bomb. We don't know exactly how large the blast will be. Now's your chance to leave, if you think it's too dangerous."

Tom inhaled a gulp of tea, and spent the next minute coughing. When he had recovered, he glanced around the miniature bunker. "Will this shack really protect us?"

"Should do. I transfigured a two-inch-thick layer of lead for added protection."

"H-how far away is the bomb going to be?"

"Twelve miles. The closest observers are about six miles away from ground zero, but that seemed too close for comfort, to me."

"Six miles...nine kilometers...that's _too close_?"

"Like I said, we don't know how big it's going to be. Put these on," she said, licking jam off her fingers and handing him a pair of goggles.

He obeyed, and she put on a pair of her own. She checked her watch and stood up. "Five minutes. Last chance to run away."

Tom stood up beside her. From that distance they couldn't see the tower where the bomb hung suspended, but Saskia described it to him in detail. "Two minutes," she said breathlessly.

The flash was blinding, much brighter than the midday sun, in colours of gold, green, white, purple and blue, and the bunker briefly felt as hot as an oven. An enormous ball of fire rose miles high into the sky and mushroomed out. Forty seconds later, the shockwave hit them, and Tom couldn't contain his scream of terror. "_What is this_?"

"They called it Trinity."

"This...this is what you've been working on?"

She nodded, a light sheen of sweat on her pale face. "They couldn't have done it without a bit of magic, though of course they'll deny that. Magic isn't really 'magic', you know, it's just manipulating the base code of reality on a level that most people can't understand or don't bother trying. Muggle science and our 'magic' can be united."

"At what cost?"

"Sanity...and the world."

Tom took off his goggles and stared at her. She was trembling and taking short, shallow breaths, frightened or aroused, he couldn't tell. "Why does this bomb exist?"

She shook her head slowly, eyes fixed on the horizon, and let loose a crazed humorless laugh. "Because it can."

_I'm dating a mad scientist_, thought Tom. "Was Germany working on this, too?"

"Yes, but their program never got off the ground. We just used it as an excuse to create an incredibly deadly weapon."

"The war is over. We'll never need to use it."

She focused on him, then. "God, I hope not."

Tom already felt sick, but the feeling deepened into panic as he realised that the time-traveling portion of his family had never once mentioned the atomic bomb. "Saskia, I'm about to have a sort of...fit. Would you please Apparate me home?"

"Okay, but first we should check ourselves for radiation."

He made a few choking noises, and then passed out.


	32. Chapter 32

[Author's note: Sorry this took so long. My computer broke and I had to re-write this chapter from memory. ;-/ Always back up your files, people! Anyway, this chapter is pretty heavily emo, which is good or bad depending on what you like. I hope you like. xxxxx]

* * *

Chapter 32 – _Operation: Raising Tom Riddle_, Part 5

* * *

The Doctor slammed the door of the blue box shut just as the soldiers opened fire. A hailstorm of bullets battered the outside of the TARDIS. "That was too close," said M, voice nearly inaudible above the noise.

The Doctor bolted to the console and quickly got them into space, a safe distance away. "Even on an alien planet in a different universe..._guns_. Are guns ubiquitous across all of space and time? Why do so many species end up making the same weapon?"

"That was _too close_."

"You'd think you'd see more lasers. Or...ooh! Sonic boomerangs would be cool."

"Will you please-"

"The important thing is we saved the last two Dreamsloths. Okay, so we helped organize a coup without really meaning to, but the _important_ thing is-"

"_Please listen!_"

The Doctor fixed M with a particular expression that M had come to expect in moments like this. "Sorry, what is it?"

"You've got that face on."

"This is my face. This is what my face looks like."

"It's that look that says _'Please don't cry_.' It's infuriating, and that makes me want to cry so just stop."

Without changing his expression, the Doctor glanced in a mirror. "You're right," he said. "I look like a jerk."

"Now you just look pathetically sad, like I'm ruining all your fun. I'm not trying to, I just want you to listen-"

"It _was_ too close. I know it was. It always is. It's never safe with me. I'm a madman and you'd be better off with someone else."

The Doctor's tone had changed abruptly. It was cold and harsh, and M was taken aback. "What?"

"Do you know how many times I've screwed up? Promises broken, lives ruined? I don't tell my companions about all of my failures because then they'd never come with me. Even so...they all go away in the end. This life is too dangerous and I know it and you can go."

"I can go?"

"Whenever you want."

"_I can go_?"

"That's what I said."

M slapped the Doctor across the face, hard. "Don't _dismiss_ me like that! Don't make _assumptions_! If you would just listen, _really listen_-"

The TARDIS beeped and a monitor flashed. "There's an incoming message," said the Doctor.

M's eyes were burning with a fury that the Doctor hadn't seen since the drums had stopped. The Doctor smiled anxiously and said, "We'll let it go to voicemail. Please forgive me. I'm ready to listen now."

The Doctor's gaze became completely receptive, like nothing and nobody else existed except M. M looked away. "I'm sorry I hit you."

The Doctor shook his head slightly, as if the slap wasn't worth mentioning. After a moment, M continued, "What I wanted to say is..." it seemed silly now that it had been built up so much, and he floundered a bit. "…that was very dangerous, wasn't it? I'm not suggesting we _stop_ trying to help people...and endangered species…in case that was what you were thinking. I'm not asking you to stop being who you are. I'm just concerned. It's been a year but I'm still _new_ at all this and I need time to get good at it. Your companions support you. You don't bring them along just for fun…you need them, their reality checks. I mean, _one_ of us has to be somewhat sane, right? We're like the last two Dreamsloths, except we have to watch out for ourselves."

He knew he was rambling and cut himself off. The Doctor was still giving him his full attention. M gathered his thoughts and tried again. "We need to be as responsible as possible for our actions and for each other. We need to be on the same page, but I'm not sure I have your trust and confidence. Think of all the times I've leaned on you this past year...there've been a lot. But you don't tell me anything. And you _can_ tell me _anything_. I don't _mind_ that you have flaws, doubts, fears. It's actually very important that I know about that stuff. Do you understand?"

"I'm sorry, but no, not really. I never had a friend like that. There are things I don't talk about with my human companions, and I guess I'm used to it. Withholding. Never really explaining myself. Being...idolized. To a human this is all so romantic, and I go along with that feeling because without it my reality isn't...it isn't much except sad and lonely, with too much power and time on my hands. Every so often someone will ask if I'm all right, and I have to say I am. I _have to_ be all right."

"It's _okay_ if you're not, now that I'm here. You said neither of us has to be alone if we've got each other. If you still feel alone, consider that it's because you won't let me get close to you."

"I _want_ to...but...even on Gallifrey, it wasn't easy to connect. I always felt different."

"Try being me from age eight onwards," M said with a gentle smile. "I don't think either of us got on particularly well with others. I learned how to be alone out of necessity. At least you have charm. Even if it is calculated."

"Excuse me? _Calculated_?"

M's smile grew. "Oh, c'mon! Your hair, your outfits...this daft professor costume, the suspenders, the bowtie! It's all very precious, isn't it? Like candy for Earthlings of the right persuasion."

"Hey...it's not like that! Bowties are cool!"

"And there it is, the affectation is complete. Listen, it's not the trappings that make you who you are. It's not the sonic screwdriver or the silly shape of your TARDIS or the names you've invented or acquired, Theta Sigma, the Doctor, the Oncoming Storm –seriously?— a million curses in a million languages. And yeah, you _are_ different than everyone else. _Everyone_ is different than everyone else. So, who are you? A sad lonely madman with too much power and time...isn't that a great metaphor for God? The interesting question is: what's the exact quality of your madness? Is it even _real_, or just part of the act? Can a madman know he's mad?"

The Doctor was lost for words. M was still smiling. He added, "What, none of your friends ever questioned you about it? You've informed them of your legendary insanity, haven't you?"

"Yes...but...they..."

"They think it's _cute_. But I know better." M's smile fell. "I know the coldness of the Time Lords, the sociopathic side we all share. Most of us couldn't have cared less about humans, not even if we'd tried. There was once a time when even you didn't care if one or one million died-"

"I changed!"

"Yes, and so have I. I never valued humans until Ashley healed me. It was like she was there with me, holding my hand as I walked towards the Untempered Schism. She protected me, she made the drums stop...and I can never adequately express my gratitude for that. I'm not sure why everyone has been so kind to me, I still don't get why I deserve it, considering what I've done...but I see now that humans have a strength the Time Lords never did. You've learned a lot from them, Doctor, about warmth and compassion, but you can't deny that cruel side of you still exists and will never go away. Is _that_ the madness you hint at, beneath the persona? Tell me something."

The Doctor waited for him to continue, but he didn't. "Tell you what?"

"A secret. Something you don't want to talk about."

"I...I dunno."

"Would it help if I told you something first?"

"Maybe."

"Sometimes I get overwhelmed by feelings I don't know how to deal with…self-loathing, fear, guilt…and to get relief I burn myself with my laser screwdriver."

"No!" The Doctor grabbed him by the shoulders, his expression of shock quickly shifting into one of anguish. "Don't do that! You shouldn't do that!"

"I know I shouldn't, that's why I'm telling you. I know it's wrong and unhealthy, and I'm struggling to find better ways to cope. Now you tell me something you struggle with."

The Doctor was still holding on to M's shoulders, and had begun to sweat. "I have a fear –I feel it right now– of you being hurt or leaving. I have this impulse, this fantasy of locking you up in order to keep and protect you, even though I know it's wrong, the _worst possible thing_ I could do to you. I love you and I want you to be happy and free, but as horrible as it is to say, I think this relationship would be _easier _for me if you were still insane. At least then I'd know that _you_ need _me_. Like you said, the madman needs a sane companion. I thought, of the two of us, I'd be the sane one. I wasn't prepared for our roles to be reversed and it's freaking me out to the extent that I'm not sure I can trust myself. That's why I told you to go."

"But you _know_ you can't lock me up. I'd escape like I did last time."

The Doctor sighed and closed his eyes. M said, "Is your compulsion really that illogical...or...there's more, isn't there?"

The Doctor winced and nodded, hands finally drifting away. "The thing Ashley did with the ward inside your mind, it got me thinking. I went around this world learning magic, and began doing experiments. I've come up with a ward that stops a Time Lord from using regeneration energy."

"When did you find time for that?"

"I sleep for an hour a day. You sleep for two...like a child would."

M had hoped that the Doctor hadn't noticed that. "You tested the spell on yourself? It's temporary?"

"Yes."

"Show me."

The Doctor took a wand out of his jacket pocket and pointed it at M. "Cogo corpus navitas."

A shimmering haze formed just around M's body and then vanished. He tried to create a spark of energy between his thumb and index finger, but nothing happened. "Impressive."

"Finite incantatem."

M tried again, and a tiny arc of golden light formed between his fingers. "Did the hat ever get around to sorting you? I'd bet on Slytherin. This shows a lot of foresight. It's good to know you're this manipulative."

M's eyes had taken on a sharp focus that unnerved the Doctor. "M, I'm sorry. The spell is the result of an unhealthy fixation. I understand if you can't trust me after this. You wanted to know how damaged I am, well, there you go."

"You think you're damaged _now_? What about-"

The monitor beeped again and M answered the call. It was Harry, and he sounded worried. He asked if the Time Lords could please come back to the London house as soon as possible. M moved to start flipping levers, but the Doctor stopped him. "What about _what_?"

M's eyebrows rose up and scrunched together, and his eyes were sad. It took the Doctor several seconds to recognize the look as one of pity. "You really don't know what this entire conversation has been dancing around. You've completely forgotten about the Valeyard, haven't you?"

The Doctor stared at him dumbly. M fought the sudden urge to slap him again, and calmly said, "The Time Lords put you on trial and the Valeyard prosecuted the case, falsifying evidence to cast you in the worst possible light, to have you executed in order to cover up the High Council's destruction of all life on Earth. How could you forget that? The trial went on _forever_, like a whole season."

"What?"

"It took all winter long, remember?"

"_What?"_

"Your sixth incarnation, put on trial...your brains were a little scrambled at the time, but try and _remember_."

"Oh...the coat...the patchwork plaid...the shirt with the question marks! But, everything worked out all right, didn't it?"

M gritted his teeth, then took a very deep hissing breath and let out an equally long sigh. He mentally kicked himself for making assumptions, when he had just chastised the Doctor for doing so. "The Valeyard is your twelfth incarnation. He is the distillation of all your evil, a perfect psychopath. How could that have slipped your mind?"

"Like _you_ remember everything that's happened to you!"

"_I wish I could forget_! Sometimes I _really wish_ that Ashley's spell had set me back to zero! But then you'd be hopeless! Don't you think the Valeyard warrants some consideration, since you're currently at _eleven_ and continue to risk your life every day? Let me recall for you that the Valeyard went _missing_ after being defeated by your sixth. Who else but me is going to deal with that? It takes one to know one!"

"You're not a psychopath!"

"I _was_! I _remember_ how I thought! That's why I'll be able to take care of you when you become the Valeyard! You will need me more than you can possibly imagine! Don't you see how dumb it is for you to think I'm going to leave? I'll do for you what you were willing to do for me, yes, even if I have to keep you prisoner! This spell you created might prove very useful in that regard, but I'm not ready yet! I need more time to learn how to be good and sane and responsible and to come up with some semblance of a plan for our future and I'd hoped you'd be interested in collaborating _openly_ on that! I can't do it by myself! _I'm only nine_!"

The Doctor began to process M's statement, but he was distracted by the last part. "Nine hundred? No, you're my age. _Oh_, wait, you're not counting the Time Lock years."

M held up both hands, crooking his left pinky down. "Nine."

Realisation dawned. The Doctor was gobsmacked. "Ashley's spell. Not back to zero, but back to...eight. Not your memories or body, obviously, but..."

"Everything else."

The rest of what M had said clicked into place. "You're new at all this, you're not ready...to deal with the Valeyard. Every risk I take could cause me to regenerate, and you're only nine. You've been struggling to bear everything by yourself, and I was too stupid and self-centered to notice."

"I didn't want you to. I don't want you to treat me like a kid-"

The Doctor knelt down and buried his face in M's shirtfront, hugging him around the waist. "You brave, stubborn, sensitive, impossibly amazing boy."

"This is what I was afraid of…this sentimental rubbish."

"It's not rubbish! How can you be _only nine_ and already this brilliant? I'm in so much trouble. You're right, I completely forgot about the Valeyard. I tell you anything, give you whatever you need, just help me, forgive me, I'm mad, I'm an _idiot_."

"You make up for it in other areas."

The Doctor looked up at him, eyes wide and teary. "I do?"

_Finally_, thought M. _He's finally crying, instead of me._ "Yes, you do. You've been doing a great job, all things considered. I never would've told you this stuff if I really thought you'd try and take control of me. All right, so you had a creepy secret plan to keep me in a cage. It's messed up, but it doesn't surprise me. I kept you in a cage for a year. Not that it makes it okay, but I'm sure you would've been way nicer to me than I was to you, so there's that. You know, even if you wanted to throw in a little torture I'd still understand...but I believe that you believe you're not that kind of person, and that's crucial. I think you're only cruel to be kind, and yes, sometimes you take that to the extreme. You've destroyed _worlds_, you've committed _genocide_, in order to protect life…but you're willing to bear the sorrow and the loneliness of your decisions. You just never give up hope that people, including yourself, can be _better_, and it breaks your hearts when they can't do it, but you keep believing it's possible. A rational person would have lower expectations. A rational person, when they hear the sound of hooves thinks horses, but you think unicorns. Well, guess what? In this universe, _unicorns exist_."

"We never would've come here if not for you."

"It was an accident."

"A happy one."

"We should see what Harry needs. Please let go of me."

The Doctor released M and automatically adjusted his bowtie. He caught himself, and looked sheepish. "Maybe you're right about my...persona."

"Maybe."

"But I _like_ bowties!"

"That's okay."

The Doctor smirked. "Don't patronize. You don't like bowties?"

"I don't think about clothes, much."

"Yeah, I can tell," said the Doctor playfully.

M looked at his own outfit; a pale gray suit with a white shirt underneath. The tie was missing and everything was oversized and wrinkled. "Huh. Well, thankfully only one of us has to be charming."

The Doctor frowned, examining as if for the first time his friend's drab clothes and unkempt hair. "You're still wearing stuff from my wardrobe. Why not have something tailored to fit?"

"I don't like to draw attention. I'm still not, um...totally comfortable in this body and I feel weird when people look at me with...adult interest."

"_Oh no_, what has Jack-"

"No, don't stereotype! Jack might be highly sexual but that doesn't make him a predator. Yes, he flirts, but he understands boundaries and has been nothing but respectful and friendly to me."

"Have you talked with Ashley about this stuff?"

"She encouraged me to tell you about the age thing...and the hurting myself thing. You might be able to help."

M's face flushed with shame. The Doctor wanted to rip his clothes off and examine him for wounds, but he knew that was a terrible idea on many levels. "What can I do?"

"I've noticed that it's worst when I'm alone, trying to fall asleep. If you could keep me company then, just talking or watching a movie or whatever, I think it might distract me."

"Have you seen _Back to the Future_?"

M shook his head. The Doctor's jaw dropped, and then he said, "I can't wait."

M smiled. "Um, also...I don't mean to impose myself or invade your privacy or anything…but how do you feel about bunk beds?"

The Doctor grinned.

* * *

"Oh, good. Everyone's here," said Tom.

He was seated on the couch in the study, the smaller of two libraries in the mansion. Usually the books gave him comfort, as if all answers were available to him if he searched long and hard enough.

Today was different. He sipped a cup of coffee laced with firewhiskey, glad that his hand had stopped shaking. When he'd regained consciousness in the bunker, Saskia was crouched over him, shouting his name. His panic had passed by the time she was done checking for radiation, replaced by an eerie feeling of calm. It was like something had clicked –or snapped—inside his mind, and the emotional horror of what he'd seen was eclipsed by the cold calculating need to do something about it. "Michael, David...please sit."

"What's going on?" asked the Doctor.

"This is an intervention on behalf of humanity."

Tom took a sip, then continued. "I've seen something very disturbing and I have a few questions, which I must insist that you answer honestly if you really love me at all."

"Tom! Of course we love you!" cried Arabella.

Tom nodded and took another sip. "Why wasn't I told about the atomic bomb?"

"We didn't want to worry you," said Albus.

"About what, specifically? What's going to happen?"

The study was silent. "Somebody please answer me," said Tom.

"We aren't in danger," said Hermione. "Not now or in the future, as far as we know."

"Who are '_we_', exactly?"

"T-the human species."

"So, the bomb will never be used on people?"

The colour drained from her face. She looked at the Doctor. Tom turned towards him. He knew the man called David was a practiced liar, and probably a skilled Occlumens. Tom shifted his gaze to Michael, who'd always had a hard time controlling his emotions. "Look me in the eye and tell me if it's a fixed point."

Looking at the floor, M asked, "What will you do if it isn't?"

"I don't know."

"Any action you take could-"

His wand was out in a flash. "_Imperio._ Look at me."

"Tom, no!" yelled Albus.

M looked at him. Tom saw the truth and dropped his cup. He gasped a few times, then released the Imperius and said, "_Two_ bombs. August 6th and 9th. No fixed points. Is it because Japan hasn't surrendered?"

"If the U.S. hadn't done it, the war might've gone on," said Hermione.

"_Might_ have? You mean it isn't a last resort?"

"The Soviets invaded Japan, and then the fighting finally stopped. There's still controversy as to whether it was the invasion or the bombs."

"How many people die?"

"Approximately two-hundred-fifty thousand. But, Japan killed eight million Chinese citizens, in addition to-"

Tom abruptly stood up and began to pace. "The U.S. just wants to be the toughest kid on the playground. _Muggles._ They're so vulnerable, yet their appetite for destruction is so fierce. Why are they like this?"

Albus said weakly, "You can't use Unforgivables."

"I'm sorry. Sorry about that, Michael. I had to know if it was possible to stop it."

"How would you go about doing that?" asked the Doctor.

"Warn Japan, somehow, about the destructive capabilities of the bomb, so they surrender. Failing that, stop the bombs themselves by whatever means necessary."

"If we do that, and the invasion goes on, there will be many more casualties," said Hermione.

"So, we should do _nothing_?"

"The situation is beyond us. We don't have the right to interfere."

"What's the point of all our magic if we can't use it for anything important? The bomb shouldn't exist! It just _shouldn't_."

"But it _does_, and nuclear energy isn't just for weapons. It generates electricity and has medical applications, along with other uses. You can't expect people to turn away from progress."

"When I saw the blast, when I felt the heat, all I could think was _this is death_. This is the death of sanity, and the world. Didn't we swear, we wizards and witches, _never again_ _the burning times_? The Muggles burned us, they burned each other, and now they're going to burn the world…and we're just going to stand by and let that happen? How is that all right?"

Ashley said, "The world is not going to end. This is war, and horrible things happen, but life will go on. You are afraid of your own death, Tom."

He stopped pacing. "Is that what it really comes down to? We only care about ourselves, in the end."

He looked around the room at the defeated expressions of his family and said, "Thank you for explaining. If you'll excuse me, I need to lie down for a while."

His room appeared unfamiliar to him now, the possessions those of a stranger; a child who dreamed of adventures that always ended well, of futures that were bright and happy. Tom stared into space, wondering what it would mean to break his promise to Aleksandr. His heart twisted at the thought, but how else could he do what was necessary? The American atomic project was well protected by Muggles and magic alike. It was supposed to be secret, but Saskia had told him that Russia knew about it and were already working on their own nukes. One mortal man had no hope of stopping it all. His choice was clear.

He slept all day and into the evening, then joined his family for dinner. The mood was still tense, and the fact that Harry, Hermione, Ashley and the Time Lords were still there was a sign that everyone was in crisis mode, but Tom tried to behave as normally as possible. After dessert, they sat up with him until he grew drowsy and returned to his room. The next morning, Tom was surprised to see that everyone was still there. For as long as he could remember, they'd only visited one day out of the week, but Tom didn't question the change. When they were still there the next day and the day after that, he was sure that they intended to stay at least until August 9th. _They're waiting me out_, he thought. _They want to see what I'll do. Well, I'll do it right in front of them, if that's what it takes._

He checked his diary obsessively. It had not been tampered with. He'd memorised the spell, rehearsed it over and over until it was second nature. It would take less than a minute to cast it. He just needed to time it right. It would've been easy if it were just any object, but Tom wanted the TARDIS.

By the fifth night he could wait no longer. After he was sure that everyone else had gone to bed (even the aliens, who barely slept) he snuck out to the garage, where the time machine was stored whenever they came to visit. It was, as always, shaped like a black Packard Super Eight. Tom pulled the gleaming handle of the driver's side door and it swung open silently. He climbed inside, approached the center console, lifted his wand, then hesitated. _Hurry_, he thought. _There might be some sort of alarm system you don't know about. _Still, he hesitated. His hand began to shake slightly, and he steeled himself. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this."

"No, you don't," came a very quiet voice, so quiet that Tom wasn't sure for a moment if it was real or only in his mind, but then Harry appeared from thin air.

Tom started. "What? I can usually sense Disillusioned people."

"This cloak doesn't just make me invisible, it keeps me _hidden_."

"I saw you sleeping in the house, not three minutes ago."

Harry shrugged. "I woke up and Apparated ahead of you. I had a feeling you'd come here."

They stood staring at each other in the dim greenish light. "Who are you to me, _really_?"

"Your friend. I know what you're planning to do, and I know it's a mistake. I can prove it."

"Go ahead."

"Follow me."

Harry led him to a hidden room of the TARDIS; a room whose door was charmed to be invisible to Tom. He followed Harry directly into the wall, reminded of Platform 9 3/4, and was taken aback by the sight of the blue box in the middle of the room. "I've seen this…in Michael's mind. I thought it was just memories. It's David's TARDIS. The _Doctor's_ TARDIS."

Harry cast him a sidelong glance. "You know there are things we've hidden from you. You got so good at Legilimency, we had to conceal a lot of our memories. We keep copies in here."

He took out a key and opened the blue box, then led the way through another series of passages and another hidden door, until they were standing in front of a cabinet upon which rested a stone basin inscribed with runes and other magical symbols. Harry opened a drawer of the cabinet, revealing several vials full of silvery liquid. He chose one in particular, unstoppered it and poured it into the basin. "This is a Pensieve, a device that allows you to view another's memory as if experiencing it first-hand. The liquid is a memory extracted from my mind."

"Do you not remember what's in these vials?"

"I remember, but while the memories are extracted, within my mind they're invisible to a Legilimens such as yourself. The liquid is like a duplicate copy."

"So, whatever I'm about to see, you've known this entire time."

Harry sighed and nodded. "Tom, I hope you know that I love you. We all really do love you, even if we've withheld things from you. I don't want to frighten you…I didn't want it to come to this, but I don't think there's any other way to convince you. You need to see why you shouldn't make horcruxes. This was to be your first, right?"

Tom felt a chill go through him. _He's not bluffing. He really did know what I was about to do. _ "Yes. How can you say that you love me, knowing I'm a killer?"

Harry was incredibly nervous, but he asked, "Who did you kill, and why?"

"Nazis and collaborators, in order to save innocent lives."

"How did killing make you feel?"

"Monstrous, but it was necessary."

"You didn't enjoy it?"

"Oh, God, no. It's horrible…horrible. But what they were doing, I c-couldn't let it happen. People would die by the thousands in the b-boxcars, before they even got to the camps."

"Boxcars…the trains? You freed people from the trains?"

Tom nodded. He was silently sobbing. It was a huge relief to finally admit what he'd done. "I h-had to help them."

"I understand."

"Oh, Harry, I hope you're just s-saying that. Any innocence I h-had is gone. I'm ruined as a person."

"Is that why you think it's okay to make a horcrux? You think you're evil?"

"You tell me."

Harry gestured toward the Pensieve. "This is a memory from a potential future. Only _potential_, not set. Things have already changed a lot, and I don't think it will happen. But you need to see it, to make your own decision about who you want to be."

"H-how do I?"

"Just stick your face in it."

Tom steadied his breathing, then slowly lowered his face into the swirling liquid and felt himself fall into a dizzying darkness. The first thing he became aware of was an excruciating pain in his head and a choking sensation across his throat. He was pinned helplessly to something as cold and hard as stone. He opened his eyes and immediately thought that this must be a nightmare, because there was a dead boy lying on the ground, a man missing a hand, and some kind of monster emerging from a giant cauldron. Yet, everything was so real: the gravestones, the smell of dirt, the stinging cut on his arm, the metallic glint of his glasses framing the scene, the terror coursing through him. The monster was taking shape, unfurling like a corpse-colored flower, and as he watched it became more and more human until it had a smooth, pallid, oddly noseless face, which it stroked with bony fingers, and eyes, the red irises of which seemed to roll down from the back of the hairless skull. The man missing a hand gave the monster a wand, and soon there were hooded figures all around, wearing masks. The headache was so intense that he couldn't quite focus on the conversation, but then the cadaverous man came closer and addressed him directly, and the words began to penetrate, sounding more and more familiar, and just as a long white finger pressed into his –Harry's– forehead, driving a white-hot spike of blinding agony though him, Tom realised it wasn't the words that he recognized but the voice, because the voice was his own.

He pulled his face out of the Pensieve and let loose a cry that sounded like his soul escaping, causing Harry to jump in fright. Tom quickly snapped his wand in three pieces and then slumped against the wall, eyes wide and staring. "Who…who am I to you?"

"You're my friend."

"Not in your memory I'm not. I don't understand…why…w-what did I do? So many vials of memories, from all of you…_what did I do_?!"

Tom was sweating and shaking, clearly traumatised, and Harry didn't think it was right or necessary to disclose every terrible detail, so he said, "Your fear of death led you to make multiple horcruxes. It stripped away your humanity, and you became _that_. You attempted to take over the Wizarding World. I stood in your way, so you tried to destroy me."

"Tell me you got away. From me in the graveyard. Tell me you killed me. I couldn't stand it…I couldn't bear to watch...to feel myself hurting you."

Tom turned and vomited in the corner, heaving long after his stomach was empty. He felt Harry's hand on his back. "Of course I got away. I'm here now, aren't I? I'm safe and so are you. Believe me, everything's going to be all right. I know you. You are my friend. You are a good person who made very difficult, grown-up decisions when you were still a child. You are not that monster and there is no reason for you to become him."

"I'd rather die than hurt you."

"I know, Tom, I know."

It was at that moment that Tom realised he feared death far less than he loved his family. His tears were renewed, but this time they were grateful beyond measure. He hugged the shorter boy tentatively, for fear of hurting him even slightly. "Harry Potter, you just saved me."

They made their way slowly back through the TARDISes. Tom was too distracted to notice that the lighting scheme had changed, but just before Harry closed the door behind them he took a moment to appreciate the fact that where there had been a sickly green glow there was now a gold as pure and bright as the feathers of a phoenix.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33 - _Operation: Raising Tom Riddle_, part ∞

* * *

Harry knocked on Tom's door. There was no response. He knocked again; still, nothing. He opened the door anyway. Tom was lying in bed, curled on his side, staring out into the room. He was on top of the covers, wearing the same clothes as the night before. He hadn't slept. He hadn't been able to think of anything except the horrible memory in the Pensieve. He knew it wasn't good to let the vision obsess him, but he couldn't summon the willpower to resist. The shades were drawn against the daylight. "Are you all right?" asked Harry, knowing full well that Tom wasn't.

"I can't seem to move."

Harry crossed to the window nearest the bed and opened it enough to let in a beam of light and a warm breeze from outside. Then he sat down near Tom's feet. "It's a beautiful day. Your mum's made lemonade and sandwiches, and we're all going to eat in the garden. We're just missing you."

"You can go on without me."

"Um...not really. We can't be happy while you're not. I know it seems unfair to tell you to cheer up. I mean, you have a right to be upset and freaked out...but it's not...well, to put it bluntly, it's not helping."

"I know I've got to turn this around and move on...but I feel paralyzed."

"Come outside."

"Do they know what I did? What I was going to do?"

"We knew you were going to make a horcrux. We didn't know when or how. I told them what you told me last night, so they'd understand your motivations. None of us think you've done anything to be ashamed of."

"I'm not proud of what I did."

"I know."

Harry took a wand out of his pocket and placed it on the dresser. Tom's eyes widened in surprise. "But...I broke it. Wands can't be repaired."

"Your dad found a way."

"I...I don't think I should have a wand."

"I disagree, but it's your choice. You might be interested to know that our wands are brothers. They both have phoenix feather cores, donated by Fawkes."

"You know so much about me that I don't...and I'm not sure I want to know. But...I caused the war in your future, didn't I? The war that's stopped you going back all these years. You knew I would become...that...and you still let me go to Durmstrang. You let me learn the Dark Arts. Why?"

Harry gripped Tom's ankles and gently shifted them to the edge of the bed. "Because you wanted to. We're not here to control you...just help you."

"I _am_ under your control, because what I saw of that other future showed me it's really for the best. You came back through time to help me, when you could've killed me instead. You..._allowed_ me to exist. No, you've done more than that. You _gave_ me this life. This is going to sound weird, Harry, but for some reason even though you're so young, you've always felt like a father to me, in some ways more than Dad. I know he loves me, but you've got this...unconditional compassion."

"We all helped raise you."

"But it was _your_ idea."

After some hesitation, Harry nodded. "Maybe people who suffer understand better how important it is to be brave and kind, and to believe that good things are possible."

Tom felt a terrible pang for Harry, for Aleksandr, for everyone who dared to help others. "I get it. You can't be happy while I'm not. You can't enjoy lemonade and sunshine while I'm despairing in the dark."

"It's like that when you care about someone."

"But how can we drink lemonade while Japan is being bombed? How can we enjoy sunshine while there are people in solitary confinement in Azkaban?"

Tom looked at him then, and added, "You think about it all the time, Harry. I _know_ you understand the kind of sorrow I'm talking about. How can we _ignore_ it?"

"We can be aware of it without giving in to _despair_. We should not despair...not while good people and things exist. Not while our family is there in the garden, waiting. Not while the sun exists. Other suns, too. _Trillions_ of them. It's okay to be happy."

"Not completely."

"Maybe not. But without happiness, what sort of future can we hope for?"

Tom sighed. "I need to do better than_ hope_. I need a way to work towards it, without turning into a monster. Lots of powerful people have worked toward what they thought was a better future, and ended up inflicting terrible suffering. I'm too much of a perfectionist. I should stay away from politics. But then how will I fight for the abolishment of Dementors?"

Harry blinked. "That's something you want to do?"

"It's something _you_ want to do, and I think it's a great idea. I don't trust _my_ ideas, Harry. I don't know how to manage myself. I can't be left to my own devices. I'm not ready for you to leave me."

"Nobody's leaving you. What, you think because we've averted the war in our time, that we're just going to leave now?"

"Well, shouldn't you want to? I mean, get back to your own life? Your own present."

"This _is_ my life! Maybe it's a little odd and out of order, but I'm here right now, so that makes it my present. Tom, listen, you've got to know this has all been _real_. Probably the realest thing I've ever done. We're with you forever, even if you don't see us all the time. You are not alone. You've _got_ all of us, and people you haven't even met yet. Please believe me, even though everything is far from perfect, it's going to be _all right_. Please just take a stupid leap of faith with me on all of this."

"It isn't stupid."

Tom reached out. Harry helped him stand. Tom took a deep breath and picked up his wand.


	34. Chapter 34

Tiny chapter. Bygones and futures.

* * *

Chapter 34

* * *

"I can barely read you at all. You've gotten much better," said Aleksandr Varsky, grey eyes amused and wistful.

Tom Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore smirked. He looked out over the Black Loch as he walked beside his friend. "We recently started teaching Legilimency and Occlumency to the most gifted students. There's a psychological screening process...though the true sociopaths can get around the tests. At least we know who's good at what."

"I taught myself. I wonder what that makes me."

"You're not a psychopath."

"Back then...I could've used different curses. I could've been merciful, but I didn't want to be."

"You had every reason to take revenge."

"No, I have no need for excuses. I accept responsibility. When we met, I didn't really care if I lived or died. That's why I could take such risks. I had no business asking you to help me. I knew you didn't want to hurt anyone...it was never like that for you. But you helped, even though you weren't sure about me. Why?"

"I couldn't tell if you were good or bad...but I knew what you were doing was _important_. I wasn't sure about myself, either."

Aleksandr flexed his left fingers in the space where his right hand would've been. "I didn't want you to become the same as me. You reminded me what it was to care about someone. Thank you for saving me. I know this apology is about ten years too late, but I'm sorry that the price you paid was so high."

Tom smiled gently. "I accept your apology, but I'd pay that price again. My choices were my own, and I'm at peace with them. Can we just get on with being friends?"

"I'd like that."

They locked eyes. Tom said, "In that case, I advise you not to get involved with the Cold War. You'll be unnecessarily worried right up into the Nineties. There isn't going to be an atomic war."

Alek looked startled, then he grinned. "Yes, you're much _much_ better, professor. How is your extended family?"

"I only see them once a year now. I have to wait another forty years before I get to watch Harry and Hermione finally grow up. It's so odd. They'll still be students then."

"Why not travel with them?"

"I want to make the future better for them. And there's just too much to do here and now. I'm the Defense teacher and the Head of Slytherin House. You should've read the furious letters we received when Saskia began teaching Muggle science. We call it 'universal studies', but the parents know what that means: genetics, physics, chemistry...all the disciplines the Wizarding World has been largely ignoring. The pureblood supremacists don't want to accept that magical genes aren't _diluted_ by interbreeding with Muggles. They don't want to see scientific proof. But Saskia's work is garnering notice anyway. It amazes me how long we've remained in the dark, not bothering to try and describe the physical processes of magic. Of course, we'll never uncover the _mysterium tremendum_-"

"Sorry, what?"

"Basically, God. Despite all our calculations and theories we don't get much closer to understanding what's really going on, and why. Not even the Time Lords know. I asked. The Doctor just shrugged. I think he's an atheist. M said he thought it must have something to do with love, as silly as that sounds. Even the tiniest particles come in pairs, and they seem to _want_ to interact."

"Are you and Saskia...is she your match?"

"We'll be married, I think."

"You _think_?"

Tom took out a small box from his jacket pocket, and opened it to reveal a gold ring in the shape of a snake, set with three emeralds. "I've been working up the courage to offer her this. Do you think it's too Slytherin?"

Aleksandr gazed admiringly at the piece. "I wouldn't know. But if she loves a certain Slytherin, I'm sure she'll find it beautiful."

Tom smiled and closed the case. "Did I tell you Violet married two years ago?"

"No, you didn't. Do you feel all right about it?"

"Oh, yes. We still exchange friendly letters once in a while. Have you got someone, back in Sweden?"

"Ah, well...unfortunately at Durmstrang there aren't many women teachers. And also, I had that idea of becoming a spy. You can't really have a family if you're going to do that sort of work. Now I'm not sure what I'll do."

"We'd be glad to have you here, even for just a course or two. Teaching Defense is a job for more than one person, and you're the best duelist I've ever seen."

"The Highmaster would never have me back if I defected to Hogwarts...but I'll think about it."

Just then, a tall brunette witch strode by them, walking in the opposite direction around the lake. "Good afternoon," she said crisply.

"Good afternoon," said Tom.

"Who is that?" Alek asked, after she was out of earshot.

"Minerva McGonagall. The new Transfiguration professor. Whip-smart and no nonsense."

Alek absentmindedly smoothed his hair down. "She has an elegant walk."

Tom smirked and asked, "Do you like cats?"

"I guess so. Why?"

"Just curious."


	35. Chapter 35

Sorry for the delay...I've been brutally stressed out by school (taking university level physics, blah blah blah, excuses, nobody cares, just shut up and write). So, this chapter is weird and even I'm like 'what the hell is this fic and where the hell is this fic headed?' but I trust my brains and I think my brains have a plan and I hope you are still enjoying it for what it is. It's not going to go on too much longer. :-) Thank you! xoxo HiTW

* * *

Chapter 35

Severus Snape was dangling upside down by his ankle. He had just, for reasons that were incomprehensible even to himself, shouted something derogatory at Lily and she had stormed away. He had no doubt that this was the worst moment of his life.

James Potter flicked his wand, and Snape's underwear ripped off. A profound silence followed, then a quiet voice from below said, "Whoa, that's…the biggest one I've ever seen."

"_Remus, _what the_ hell_," Sirius Black whispered harshly.

Remus chuckled very softly, and said, equally softly, "James, maybe you're lucky Lily left when she did."

Even from his vantage point, Severus could see how infuriated James and Sirius looked. He'd been harassed by the two of them more times than he could count, and had often heard Remus muttering words of admonishment, but this was the first time he'd done any teasing of his own, and Severus was shocked that it wasn't directed at him. "What did you say?" James snarled at Remus, losing his concentration on the spell and sending his victim crashing to the ground.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, but really. We're not second-years any more. This is just _dumb_-"

"You think Lily would choose this greasy, sniveling _git_ over me?"

James turned and began to kick Severus in the ribs. "Stop!" yelled Remus, grabbing at James' arm.

James launched a Stinging Spell at his friend's face. Remus howled and danced a jig of pain. James' mouth fell open. "Shit, Moony, I'm sorry."

The distraction afforded Snape an opportunity to escape. _Sectumsempra_, he thought, enunciating each syllable in his mind, not sure who he wanted to target with the curse: James Potter, Sirius Black, himself. Yes, his sorry self would do, cut into irreparable pieces. He would've run his wand across his heart and let it be done, but there was an apology to be made.

He reached Gryffindor tower and after repeatedly shouting for Lily was informed by a friend of hers that she would not come down. Snape said he'd wait there all night and he settled in to do just that, sinking down against the cold wall with his head in his hands.

After a very long time, during which a nearby cliff began to whisper enticingly, he heard familiar footsteps on the stairs. He stood up and looked Lily in the eyes. "I'm sorry," he said immediately. "I didn't mean it. It was a slip of the tongue."

"Why was _that _on the tip of your tongue? Why is it in your mind?"

"I...don't know."

"_Really?_ You don't see it's because of your friends?"

"They're not...I'm not like them..._we're_ friends, you and me. I'm _so sorry_, Lily. If I could take it back-"

"You can't."

He grimaced and looked away. She continued, "You say you're not like them, but you hang out with them, you talk like them, you think like them. How far will you follow them? What if they start passing laws against _people like me_?"

"There's no way that's going to happen."

"You don't know that. If pure-blood supremacists control the Ministry, anything could happen."

"You're being paranoid-"

"Paranoid?! What about the woman who was murdered? People are saying she had the word _mudblood _carved into her."

Severus winced. "We don't know that's true."

"How are we to know? All we've got is rumors. You can't believe what you read, with your _friend _Lucius controlling the Daily Prophet."

Severus hesitated. Lucius had always been disdainful of Muggles and Muggleborns, but he had an image to uphold if he was to gather followers in order to fulfill his political goals. Being proud of his pure blood status didn't mean that he was evil, or part of an underground group that advocated violence. Severus couldn't just reject such a powerful ally, especially not someone who had always encouraged him and treated him with kindness. He didn't know how to explain it to Lily. How could he possibly make anything of himself if he turned against the only people who accepted him? He hesitated, and she left.

He wandered over to the cliff. It was definitely high enough. A wind nudged him forward slightly. He jolted and stumbled back, away from the edge. _Coward._

* * *

"I swear, Hogwarts gossip travels faster than a golden Snitch," said Professor Saskia Malacrea.

"What's happened?" asked Professor Tom Marvolo Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore.

"There was a...scene after exams today. The Snape boy was supposedly dangled upside-down and stripped naked by those four Gryffindors...the Musketeers?"

"The Marauders."

"Right. Right...so, apparently whilst this was happening Snape said something offensive to Lily Evans, and so now all of Gryffindor hates him. Well, now they have a _reason_ to hate him. Then there was _another _scene where he apologised...and even though she refused to accept it, I gather apologising to a Muggleborn is reason enough for certain Slytherins to see Snape as a _blood-traitor_ or something. It's all they were talking about at dinner."

"What about Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff?"

"Ravenclaws don't talk at dinner, they're too busy studying, you know that. Hufflepuff were singing that song that goes 'why can't we be friends? Why can't we be friends', over and over."

They shared a laugh, and then a sigh. Tom had seen this coming for a long time. Even without Harry's stories, Tom would've recognised from the start that Severus Snape was a person apart from the crowd. He had watched the boy sorted into Slytherin House, had seen the look of concern when Lily Evans was placed in Gryffindor alongside James Potter and Sirius Black. Tom had seen the battle lines drawn. He'd done his best to kept an eye on the situation, while also keeping his distance. He noticed torn robes, clenched teeth, slight limping, blood at the corner of the mouth. The smell of sweat, of fear and anger, when Severus came to the front of the class to hand in his work; work that was always outstanding, written in an elegant hand far more mature than his peers', almost Victorian in its neatness and grace, but devoid of any pretentious flourishes.

Tom saw that he was brilliant and in pain, a potentially dangerous combination. He desperately needed help, but seemed incapable of reaching out, probably because he'd never had anyone to reach out to, Tom supposed.

He tried to encourage the boy's confidence, praising him in the margins of his homework, hoping that the young wizard would view him as an ally. He'd initiated many conversations in passing, only to be answered with stilted, overly-formal replies. Snape wouldn't or couldn't even look him in the eyes.

It was extremely difficult for Tom to restrain himself from intervening where bullying was involved, but the humiliation of needing a teacher to defend you was not something he was going to impose on a student. Still, he took it upon himself to stealthily patrol the halls at unpredictable times. On more than one occasion he'd caught the Marauders in the act, and applied appropriate detentions and point deductions, but punishment didn't deter them for long. In fact, the bullying had gotten significantly worse this year, their fifth. It seemed that the Marauders knew Snape's every move (Tom suspected they'd created their infamous map) and James Potter was clearly besotted with Lily Evans and keen to keep her away from her childhood friend. In Tom's opinion, Lily Evans deserved better than James Potter. Tom was continuously impressed by the physical resemblance between James and Harry, but their personalities were so different it was hard to believe that this sadistic troublemaker would be Harry's dad.

That is, unless things changed. This was a crucial moment. Tom wasn't sure what to do, or if he _should _do anything. "Use your judgment," Harry had said.

"_My_ judgment? I owe _you_ everything. I can't make decisions that could affect your life."

"Sure you can. Especially because I did it to you. I trust you...really, just use your judgment."

"As part of your family? As a professor? As someone with knowledge of the future?"

"Whatever you feel is right."

"But if I interfere...things could turn out differently."

Harry had shrugged. "You take everything too seriously."

Tom recalled his smile, and his own trickle of nervousness, even then, ten years ago, when this situation was still a distant fantasy. Could it be so easy to place your future in someone else's hands? Tom rubbed his face. "Saskia, how did we get to be _fifty_?"

"_Merlin,_ don't rush it. We're still mid-to-late forties, I think they call it."

"Middle aged."

"For Muggles, maybe. I plan on rounding two hundred, at least."

Tom got up from his desk and kissed his wife. "I'm going to do some damage control here, if possible. Say goodnight to the girls for me."

Saskia nodded. "I can't believe Ariana will be a first year in the fall."

Tom groaned. "Is the book definitely closed on Beauxbatons?"

"Definitely. This is our home, and our children will go to school here."

Tom swallowed hard. "There's a killer on the loose. Did you see the victim's photograph? Dark hair, pale skin...she could've been our daughter. Or you."

"So, even though she died in London, _hundreds of kilometers _away, we're in danger because we _look_ like her? Tom, be reasonable. The papers only say that she was killed. The part about it being motivated by her blood status was probably made up by Slytherin students."

"You're probably right. But some of their parents work for the Ministry, and have access to the case details that weren't put in the paper."

Saskia sighed. "If there _is_ a conspiracy, it's that the pure-bloods want to frighten us into picking up and leaving, so they told their kids to spread rumors. Or maybe the Ministry doesn't want to start a panic, which is sensible. What happened to her is horrible...for Merlin's sake, she was only twenty five...but terrible things happen sometimes. It doesn't mean _we're_ not safe here."

"You've had death threats, just for teaching Muggle science."

"You've had love letters, just for being handsome. Okay, you've convinced me. We've simply got to pack it in. Where shall we go? Where's safe enough for you? How about New Zealand? Stunning landscapes. More sheep than people. You want to leave right away? I'll give notice."

"Stop, I get it. You know I'm obsessive."

"Haven't you got someone else to worry about right now?"

"Yes, I'd better find Snape before the other students decide he's the killer."

Saskia frowned. "I hadn't thought of that. It's just daft and illogical enough to fly at Hogwarts. What are you waiting for?"

Tom ran into the Marauders as they neared Gryffindor tower. They froze in their tracks, tried to look casual. "Let me borrow the map for a minute," Tom said.

"What map?" drawled James Potter.

"The map that shows the location of everyone at Hogwarts, that you four made. I'm not confiscating it. I just need to find someone."

James reluctantly pulled the map out of his robes, wishing that he'd thought to charm it not to respond to the Head of Slytherin House (and the Heir of Slytherin, no less). A really dumb oversight, now that he thought about it. They'd been so focused on hating Snape that they'd underestimated a cleverer opponent. Tom took the map, tapped it with his wand and quietly said, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

"You aren't supposed to use Legilimency on your students unless you're teaching them Occlumency, Professor," said James.

Tom smiled, but didn't look up from the map. It was huge, and scanning it for a name could take a long time. "I suppose you think you're the only one who's allowed to break the rules, Mr Potter."

After about a minute, he caught sight of Severus near the Forbidden Forest. He folded the map and tapped it again. "Mischief managed."

The boys were holding their breath. Tom handed the parchment back to James and looked at each of them in turn. Tom hadn't asked for specifics about the war in Harry's time, the war that was supposed to have already begun, but he knew that it had ultimately destroyed all four of the young men standing before him. "Oh, children. You have no idea how quickly things can change. The world is violent. It's so important to be kind to each other. Especially people you don't like. It takes true courage to do that."

Before they could respond, Tom turned and walked away. He found Snape standing near the woods, facing the lake. Hogwarts castle was ablaze with amber lights against the night sky, but Snape wasn't looking at it. His head was hung, face nearly hidden in his black cloak; the picture of despair. Tom didn't want to startle him, so he made his footfalls as loud as possible in the grass. Snape abruptly whirled in his direction, wand at the ready. Tom put his hands up and said, "Just wanted to let you know curfew's in twenty minutes."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have pointed my wand at you, sir. Thank you, sir."

Snape made no move to return to the castle. Tom waited for a while, then asked, "Are exams going well?"

"Yes, sir."

"I was wondering if you'd be interested in learning Legilimency and Occlumency."

"I...I am, Professor. But don't you only offer that to seventh years? I haven't sat my D.A.D.A. O.W.L. yet, sir."

"I know you'll do Outstanding."

"Thank you, sir."

"We can start tonight, if you'd like."

Severus blinked and looked in his direction, gaze daring to drift as high as Tom's shirt collar. "Thank you, but why tonight, sir?"

"Forgive me for saying so, but you seem like you could use it."

Snape scrubbed at his eyes, as if to rid them of emotion. Tom reached out towards him, then thought better of it, and said, "I didn't mean that you should control yourself. It's the opposite...you might find relief by letting go."

The young man drew a shuddering breath, a sob trapped in his chest. "S-sorry, but you've caught me at a...bad time."

"Mr. Snape."

The voice was so soft and kind it surprised Severus into looking up. He made eye contact with Tom for an instant, then quickly averted his gaze. Tom got a glimpse of a man of his own stature, from the perspective of a cowering boy. He sensed a sorrow so deep it felt like there was a black hole where his heart should be. _I remind him of his father_.

Tom steadied himself, tried not to react, and in the same quiet tone continued, "I think it would help. I'd Obliviate anything you don't want me to remember."

Snape nodded, and when Tom turned to walk back towards the castle, his student followed him. "Would you prefer my office on the third floor, or the dungeons?" Tom asked once they were inside.

"Wherever you like, sir."

"Imagine the castle is your mind. A human mind is just as sprawling, clandestine, changeable...if not moreso. Where in the castle do you feel the most secure?"

"The Potions room."

Soon they were in the chapel-like chamber, surrounded by rows upon rows of glass jars full of ingredients. Tom moved a few cauldrons off the table, and then they sat down across from each other. "Now, Mr Snape, since this is the first lesson and you have exams in the morning, I don't want to exhaust you. Full-force Legilimency can feel like the door of your mind being kicked in, or even blown off its hinges. Occlumency in its crudest form is like installing a steel-reinforced door against invaders. A more subtle form of Occulmency allows the Legilimens to believe they've opened the door, by creating a projection of yourself who greets guests in the front hall of your castle. That takes time and practice to master, but some have more natural ability than others. To assess you, what I'd like to do is knock gently, just so you can get used to the feeling, and when you feel like you're ready, you open the door."

"Open it, sir? I thought I was supposed to resist."

"You won't know what to resist unless you experience it. I've found it's much better teaching this way than by force."

"You swear you'll Obliviate any...anything..."

"Yes, I promise."

Severus looked at him. It was hard to maintain direct eye contact, but he forced himself. He soon felt a strange, cold, tugging sensation from the back of his skull out through his eyes. It didn't hurt, but he felt as if he would be pulled along with it if he didn't resist, and the instinct to resist won out. He felt an odd shudder, like a muscle reaching its maximum endurance. "Sorry."

"No need to apologise. It's good that you already have some defenses. A lot of people your age, their minds are wide open. They wear their thoughts on the surface of their eyes."

Snape thought of Lily's eyes, of how they'd flashed with hurt and anger. Tom said, "She wasn't just upset about what you called her. She cares about you. She's worried you're headed down the wrong path."

"Wait...I didn't let you in."

"You did, with one moment's thought of Lily. She's your biggest vulnerability. I'm impressed, Mr Snape. You already have a projection of yourself, a taller, adult version of you, defending the rest of you."

"Not well enough, apparently, sir."

"You've only just begun. Nobody's perfect to start, but you're a natural at shielding. Your projection is facing me, mirroring my movements as I try to see from different angles, always staying between me and those behind you, trying to protect them."

"Them?"

Tom looked, and he saw things that he was sure Severus would not want him to see. Right behind him, almost disappearing into his shadow, sat an empty-eyed, unwashed child covered in welts and bruises, rocking back and forth in an attempt to self-comfort. Tom could've pushed into that child's world, into his sense-memories, but he knew it would be traumatic for both of them. He looked instead at an older boy also standing behind the projection. He seemed about fifteen, Snape's current age, but his appearance was distorted: the body emaciated, the nose freakishly oversized, skin sallow and lesioned. A monstrous, corpse-like image. A quick push into this figure's inner world yielded a black tangle of self-destructive fantasies. _Trauma, depression, low self-esteem_, Tom thought, sadly unsurprised. He could've guessed as much without using Legilimency. Tom noticed that the cadaverous boy would occasionally glance at a red-haired girl standing nearby, then bury his face in his hands as his shoulders shook with sobs. Tom turned his attention to the girl. She was a happy version of Lily, lit up as if the sun was shining on her. She was a bit idealised, but not unrealistically so. Whereas all of the guilty feelings about her seemed to radiate from the corpse figure, all of the positive feelings emerged from her image itself. There was no interaction between her and a normal looking version of Severus. Even the projection stood with his back to her, more keen on shielding her than enjoying her company. "You are capable of adoring her from afar, without having to possess her. You will always love her, even if she doesn't return your love," Tom said aloud.

Severus blushed and nodded. Tom continued, choosing his words carefully, "What makes you so sure she doesn't love you?"

"Who could?" His tone wasn't self-pitying; it was genuinely unsure.

"Someone who knows there is a side of you that is loving. There were many acts of kindness between you, as children. A very deep friendship."

"We were best friends. But we've been drifting apart. You said she cares...that she's worried about me. How do you know that?"

"She said as much when she asked you how far you'd follow your friends."

"They're _not_! _Lily's _my friend. I only hang around those people because they're powerful and can help me become powerful, too. If what she says about pure-bloods taking over is true, then there needs to be someone on the inside to resist them. Wouldn't Lily and all the Muggleborns be safer that way, with me spying for them?"

"I don't know. What's important is that you realise you have a _choice_. I don't think you can have it both ways."

Severus closed his eyes. When he thought about losing the respect of his Slytherin acquaintances –especially Lucius– and compared it to the thought of losing Lily, the choice was clear. An unfamiliar peace came over him. "Thank you, Professor. If you don't mind...I should get some sleep."

"Would you like me to Obliviate anything?"

"No, that's alright, sir."

"Mr Snape, you need to meet with a psychological healer."

"I...I don't have the money for that, sir."

"I'll cover all expenses."

"I couldn't possibly-"

"I'm obscenely wealthy. I insist."

Severus realised he really ought to be wondering what his professor was up to with all of this, why he had been singled out for attention all of a sudden, but he was too distracted by thoughts of how he could make things right with Lily.

The next morning at breakfast, he approached the Gryffindor table. Ignoring the glares and jeers of everyone around Lily, he asked her to please have a private word, to listen to one last thing he had to say. She still refused, but he wouldn't leave. The Gryffindors began to shout at him to bugger off, Prefects were rising from their places, and looks were being drawn from the Professors' table, but everyone fell silent as Snape did one very simple thing. He slid off his school tie, removed that noose of silver and green from around his neck, and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. If this was what it took to show her his loyalty, so be it. If the Slytherins wouldn't have him back, he'd sleep in the halls, in abandoned classrooms, on the grounds under the stars.

Lily's eyes widened. The corners of her mouth began to twitch, then slowly curve upwards, finally bursting into a delighted smile. To Severus, it was like seeing the sun peek over the horizon after a long and frigid night. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Apology accepted."

"_No!_" shouted a Gryffindor girl, who didn't fully comprehend the significance of the tie-dropping. "He called you _mudblood_! You can't forgive that!"

"I'm half-blood," said Severus, loudly. "That pureblood stuff is _pure shite._"

There were gasps, mostly from the Slytherin table. Well, it was official…he would never be allowed into any elitist blood purity club after saying that. It would get back to Lucius as fast as a student could scribble a note and an owl could fly. It'd be a miracle if he made it through the next hour without being attacked, but he didn't care, and besides, at least now he'd be harassed for something that mattered.

In retrospect, the shrewd Slytherin choice would've been to wait until he could get Lily alone, but this way felt right, somehow, with all the Gryffindors watching. Snape felt like an imposter, he was much more nervous than his appearance was letting on, but his instincts told him that his bravery was genuine, and daring to glance around the table he saw, mixed in with expressions of shock, disgust, and confusion, that some of the Gryffindors looked impressed. "It's finally happened, he's gone loony. Maybe we pushed him too far, like Remus warned," Sirius said to James, who looked as if his life were flashing before his eyes.

Lily rose and hugged Severus. Everyone in the Great Hall stared at them. The embrace was brief. Lily turned back towards the bench. "Would you mind making room?" she said to Gryffindors on either side of the place where she'd been sitting. Neither budged, so after a moment, Lily calmly pulled off her school tie, dropped it next to her friend's, and the two left the hall together. As soon as they were through the doorway, a hundred voices began to shout at once. From outside, it sounded like cheering.

The young witch and wizard looked at each other and burst out laughing, as freely as they ever had as children, in those rare moments when Severus forgot himself and entirely dropped his guard. They grabbed at each other's hands, and he thought of how she signed her letters with all those little 'X's. Before today, he'd never dared to believe that she would give him a real kiss, and he still wasn't sure, wasn't brave enough to ask. It seemed pathetic that he could throw away his entire future without a second thought, but couldn't ask for a kiss. Being bullied and ostracized was something he understood. Romance…he didn't know how to do it right. He didn't know if it was what she wanted, and he certainly didn't want to ruin things again.

They got their laughter under control and wiped tears from their eyes. "What are we going to _do_?" asked Lily, grinning.

"Exams don't start for an hour. Want to go for a walk?"

And so they did, into a morning that was clear and bright. "Lily…you didn't have to take off your school tie just because they wouldn't let me sit there."

"I know, but stubborn Gryffindor pride really annoys me sometimes. There's more to life than House loyalty, obviously."

"What about your friends?"

"My true friends will understand. At least Remus will understand."

Severus blushed as he remembered Remus's comments from the previous day. Lily couldn't possibly care about something like that. It was dirty, and she was a good girl. "Lily, you're a prefect. You have to be a role model."

"Oh, whatever," she said dreamily. "Do you remember the first time on the Hogwarts Express, when Sirius was so hell-bent on not getting sorted into Slytherin? So, he became a Gryffindor…but such a cruel bully. I think he's afraid he's evil inside…he thinks that's his Slytherin part. He lashes out at people who remind him of his fear. I think _you _could show him he's wrong about you, and himself. This whole time I think you were just afraid to stand up for the truth, and the truth is that you are a good person. Somewhere along the way you just got _scared_, and it's been so hard to watch because I _know _how you really feel..._you're the one_ who told me being Muggleborn makes no difference! But today you were so brave and _amazing_ and you don't have to switch allegiance to Gryffindor or anything, but please don't be scared anymore."

If ever there was a perfect segue for him to make a move, this was it. "What about James?" he asked instead.

"If we can get Sirius to come around, I'm sure James will, too."

_We, _he thought. He swallowed hard. His heart was racing. "You know…he likes you. A lot."

Lily nodded solemnly. "Yes, he does."

"How do you feel about him?"

"You mean do I return his affection? No. I don't date bullies. You don't hurt someone I love and expect to win my heart. Though he did save your life once, that doesn't quite erase the years of bullying…and I'm sorry to say this but I think he did it to avoid the consequences, not because it was the _right_ thing to do. I _might_ grow to be his close friend, if he stops being such a prat and makes things up to you in a huge way."

Severus was staring at her. "You...love me...even after what I said?"

"You _do know_ that your allegiance with the blood purists was the only deciding factor...don't you?"

It was plain to see that he hadn't known, had never imagined. "But...but I've got _nothing_...I'm poor and ugly and I've got to see a psychological healer-"

Her shocked expression stopped him. "Oh, no, Sev, no. You think I'd love an arrogant _child_, just because he's good-looking and rich? Just who the hell do you think I am? Do you think I'm _shallow_?"

"No! No, I'm sorry, I…I, um..."

"Do you love me?"

"Since the moment I saw you. I figured you knew. I figured girls know these things."

"How do you figure? You were always acting so aloof and insisting we were _friends_ all the time. We aren't mind readers."

"I'm learning."

"What?"

"Occlumency. Legilimency."

"Fascinating. May I kiss you?"

"Right now?"

"Oh, please-"

She closed the distance between them and kissed him, gently, entreatingly, then with increasing insistence. It was his first kiss and it was terribly stiff and awkward at first, but she wasn't giving up, wasn't turning away in disgust, if anything it was like she'd been handed a quest to make him feel good, and she slowly, inexorably began to work her magic, exactly like a charm.

* * *

(sorry to any James Potter fans...but I really don't like him. Teenagers break up all the time, though, so don't worry, there's still a chance.)


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

* * *

"This is so weird, Harry. This is unhealthy."

Harry didn't lower the binoculars. "Hermione, it's _my_ life."

"You can't choose your parents!"

"Um...apparently you can."

"Well, you _shouldn't_." Hermione shifted uncomfortably, zipped up her jacket against the October chill.

"All the stuff I saw of my dad...of James Potter...I used to idealise the hell out of him, but the truth is he wasn't a very nice guy. I guess he might've been a good dad, but there was only that first year. He didn't, like, teach me anything."

"And Severus Snape's taught you stuff? Snape's been a great dad? Harry, the man's been nothing but mean to you!"

Harry sighed. "Y'know that's not true. _Shhh_, they're about to leave."

As Harry watched, James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin left the house at Spinner's End. Harry watched James step around a pile of rubbish and turn up his nose in contempt. The three young men turned the corner, disappearing from sight. Harry ducked back into the alley and stuck a flesh-coloured string in his ear. "Is that what I think it is?" asked Hermione.

"Shhh, I want to hear."

Harry frowned, and then added, "My mum sounds angry."

"I thought the range of the Extendable ears was only a few meters or so."

"The Doctor did something to it with the sonic."

"And you hid it in Snape's house?"

"Mmm hmm."

She shook her head and wearily asked, "What are they saying?"

"Since you won't stop talking, you may as well listen. You'll make more sense of it than I can, anyway," he said, handing her the ear-string.

"Well, that was bloody awful," said Lily Evans.

There was the sound of running water and the quiet clinking of plates being washed. "Awful for whom, exactly?" came the eventual reply.

Hermione knew that the Severus Snape inside the house was only twenty, but his voice sounded years older. Hermione couldn't help but picture him as Potions master, in his thick black clothing, with his permanent scowl. "James was trying to be kind, and all you did was make things horrible," said Lily.

"He was _not_ being kind. Every compliment was backhanded."

"Name one thing he said that was rude."

"He said the place looks _so much better_ than it did last year."

"He just meant you've put a lot of work into it, and it shows."

"Not the point."

"What else?"

"He said he admires me for being content with a _normal person's_ job. Because _obviously_ we aren't all cut out to be hero Aurors who make life-and-death decisions every day...you know, decisions that _matter_. We don't all have the courage and the intellect and the strength."

The clinking of plates abruptly turned to clattering, as if a stack of plates had been dropped into the sink. Lily's voice was so soft, it was nearly drowned out by the sound of the rushing tap. "Please stop washing up for a second."

The water was promptly shut off. There was a long silence. "Sev, if it means anything, you are the bravest, smartest, strongest person I know. I think the Ministry made a mistake in rejecting you. James should know better than to rub it in your face. But what you do happens to matter _a lot_. Your potions mean the difference between life and death every day for patients at St. Mungo's, and a huge improvement in quality of life for people who suffer from lycanthropy and such. James has no idea how difficult it is to brew Wolfsbane. He doesn't know that only the best of the best can even hope to _attempt_ it, let alone _succeed_. He's that ignorant, even with one of his closest friends drinking the stuff for a whole week out of every month. There's no point in letting his dumb comments get under your skin."

"He gives me a bad feeling...like he wants to see me suffer, still."

"Can't you let the past go? These are our _friends_...they're not trying to undermine us."

"I trust Remus and Sirius. I _like_ them. Peter's alright, too. They don't look at you the way James does."

"And how's that?"

"Like you're something good to eat."

"No he doesn't! That's disgusting!"

"Just because you don't see it-"

"Could it be in your mind?"

"Don't-"

"I'm sorry. But is it _possible_ you're imagining it?"

"_Yes_, it's possible. But I'm _not_."

"Okay, so what if he does still fancy me? You're worried he'll..._seduce_ me or something?"

"No. I don't know. No."

"Sev-"

"He can give you things I can't."

"I don't want whatever he's got. I want _you_. That's why I'm with _you_."

"In this rubbish little corner of Cokeworth."

"Oi! I love this little corner."

"Nobody loves Spinner's End."

"_I_ do."

"The screaming of foxes all night."

"Like a lullaby."

Severus laughed. The sound shocked Hermione. "Lily, you're a lovely, kind person for saying that...but really...we can do a bit better, don't you think? You can't want to live here forever."

"Well...I guess..._someday_ it'd be nice to live somewhere less...urban. A cottage or something."

"Yeah, me too. I was thinking I'll switch to the night shift at Mungo's, take the Potions teaching job at Hogwarts to make some extra dosh, save up until you're done with University-"

"And when are you to sleep?"

"The Ministry is under the false impression that all their Time Turners are accounted for."

"Oh _no_. Did you lift it before or after they..."

"After."

"You shouldn't've done that."

"I know, but I can't very well just go hand it back, can I?"

Lily sighed. "If you work two full-time jobs, when am I to see you?"

"Weekends?"

"Don't like it."

"We could take mini time-travel holidays."

"Rowing down the Venetian canals, with you snoring in the gondola."

He laughed again. Lily asked, "Do you still want to spend Hallowe'en at Godric's Hollow?"

"It would be rude not to. Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter was kind enough to visit us commoners, after all."

She sighed. "What costumes shall we do?"

"We could play our Patronuses. A doe and...well...I guess I'd be a stag. Or is that daft?"

"No, I like it."

Hermione removed the ear-string. "What is it?" asked Harry.

"They're going to your dad's...to James Potter's...for Hallowe'en."

"So, they're not fighting?"

"Not really. Um...Harry?"

"Yeah? Why've you gone pink?"

Hermione turned a deeper shade. "It's just, well it's just, y'know, if you're still going to be born on July thirty-first of next year, well, Hallowe'en just happens to be nine months before, is all. But you already knew that."

Harry blinked. "Just one or two more stops, just to check, then we'll finally really go home to our time. Cool?"

* * *

"No," said the Doctor.

"But-"

"No. I mean it. If I'd known the extent to which you've been tampering with your own timeline I would've dropped you home sooner. If you peek too many times, you ruin the whole experiment."

"Experiment?"

"What else is this? I'm being serious. The more you look, the more fixed points you make. You're in real danger of causing a tangle. Time to stop."

"Harry, we've been gone for nearly two years," said Hermione. "I miss my family. I miss Ron. He's going to be furious."

Harry crossed his arms, then uncrossed them. "You're right...it's time. I've been delaying. I never really had to think about the future, beyond Voldemort. Guess I'm scared to face it."

"Everyone's scared," said Hermione. "That's why people need each other."

Harry rubbed the spot where his scar used to be, and smiled.

* * *

Godric's Hollow was glowing. On almost every doorstep sat a jack-o-lantern, flickering with candlelight. The waxing moon was bright and the stone houses were strung with decorations. Deliciously spicy smells wafted through the air.

It was _way_ nicer than Spinner's End.

The door to James's house was slightly ajar, and sounds of merriment issued from within. As Lily and Severus approached, she felt his long, cool fingers brush against her palm. She immediately took his hand in a firm grip. He wasn't one for displaying affection publicly; she knew he was scared. Social gatherings were still a challenge for him, being around James Potter in particular wasn't easy, and even though he acknowledged that his fears were largely irrational, they were persistent. At least by now he'd accepted that he could lean on Lily for support sometimes, though it still filled him with a slightly queasy feeling of shame. He supposed that the bad feeling would never leave completely, but every time she held his hand instead of pushing it away or ignoring it, his heart did something impossible to articulate in words.

They stepped into the foyer and were greeted by the host. He was also wearing antlers. James and Severus stared at each other. Lily laughed and said, "Aww, look, we're a little herd!"

She pushed their gift of wine into James' hands, hugged him quickly, and pulled Severus over to a huge bowl of firewhisky-spiked cider. She poured two drinks, and then watched her boyfriend drain his glass within seconds. She wasn't about to scold him, not when alcohol could help him relax and enjoy himself. He refilled his glass and said, "Let's see if Remus and Sirius are around."

They found them in the living room, just the two of them dancing to a strange song. The music was spare and dark, with a driving, tense beat. "What is this?" Severus asked, captivated.

"Muggle band called Bauhaus," shouted Sirius over the record. "Do you like it?"

"Yes," he said, somewhat surprised by how much he meant it.

"Thought you would. After this I'll put on Joy Division."

Remus came over and hugged them each in turn. He was dressed as a sheep. "Get it?" he asked, giggling.

Severus asked, "Have you been taking your potion?"

"'Course I have."

"You didn't mix it with butterbeer, did you?"

"'Course not. C'mon, dance."

Just as he said that, the song ended. Sirius changed the record. He was wearing a dirty striped shirt with the word 'Azkaban' stenciled across the back. The four friends danced together until the room filled up with other guests, who began to whine for more party-friendly music. "I'm going to step outside and get some air," Severus said to Lily.

"Want company?"

"Nah, it's okay. Stay and dance."

She smiled knowingly. "Enjoy your cigarette."

"Just one, I promise."

"You don't have to make promises to me."

He didn't exactly try to hide his occasional smoking from her, but he knew it was a dirty habit, and hiding was his nature. She didn't exactly approve, but she knew he disapproved of himself more than she ever could, and she wasn't critical at heart.

He went outside. It was a beautiful night, and a few partygoers were smoking in the front yard, chatting and stargazing. Severus' cigarette was nearly finished when a voice beside him said, "Sorry about the costume thing."

James had managed to sneak up on him. He must've rounded the house from the back. "It's okay," said Severus. "It's your Animagus, after all."

"Is Lily having fun?"

Severus nodded, feeling suddenly tongue-tied as he noticed they were alone now. "Everything good, between you?" James asked.

The taller, lankier man nodded again. He really wished he wasn't wearing antlers, but taking them off right now would be a sign of weakness. He took one last drag on his cigarette and snuffed it on the stone walkway, then put the burnt out end in his pocket. "Excuse me," he said, and turned to go back into the house.

"I thought she would've realised when you failed the Auror evaluation."

Severus stopped. "Realised what?"

"She shouldn't be with someone who's unstable."

"That isn't what it means to fail the psychological evaluation."

"That's just what they tell the crazies."

"It was two years ago and we're still together, so I guess she doesn't care."

"Well, I care. I know you're wrong for her. You've always been _wrong_."

Severus turned to face James.

It was during a pause between songs that the people inside heard the screaming. They poured out onto the lawn and looked on in shock at Severus leaning over James, who was writhing on the ground, bleeding from deep cuts across his face and chest.

Lily pushed through the crowd, but Sirius held her back and told Remus to call the Auror Office.

"No! S-stop! Get away from me!" shouted James as Severus pointed his wand at the wounds and began to mutter a spell.

"Sev, put your wand down," said Lily, trying to twist out of Sirius's grip.

"I can't. He could bleed out."

Two Aurors Apparated onto the scene within a minute. Snape was still working on the cuts. "Easy, now," said one of the Aurors.

"He needs to be healed," said Severus.

"Put the wand on the ground and we'll get him to a healer."

He obeyed, moving very slowly, then lay face-down on the grass with his hands behind his head.

* * *

The light in the interrogation room was harsh. It was designed that way, to make you feel there was nowhere to hide your secrets, nowhere the light of truth couldn't penetrate. Severus couldn't help but sweat. He was in trouble. "Let's try this again," said the Auror. "Did you attack James Potter?"

"I don't remember doing so."

"Your wand remembers."

"He must've used a memory charm on me."

"We've examined Mr Potter's wand. No _Obliviate_."

"Then there's another wand."

"James Potter is an Auror. Aurors are only allowed to own one wand."

"He _did_ _something_ to me."

"What it looks like is you did something to him. He's in bad shape right now. They're working on him at St. Mungo's, but the cuts aren't healing like normal cuts."

"I was trying to fix it, but he wouldn't lie still."

"You admit to attacking him?"

"_No!_ No...when I saw the cuts I just...tried to heal him."

"Using the specific counter-spell to...what was it called?"

Severus swallowed. "Sectumsempra."

"That's one we've never heard of. And we've seen a lot. Where'd you learn it?"

"I created it."

"Were you and James Potter arguing, just before the incident?"

"He made some rude comments."

"What did he say?"

"That I was insane, and Lily deserved better."

"Did that make you angry?"

"James and I have never gotten along, but I didn't think he'd take it this far."

"Please answer the question. Were you angry?"

"Yes, but not enough to attack him. Why would I attack him at his own party? Why now, after all this time? It doesn't make sense. And I _can't remember_ doing it. Please, use Veritaserum on me, get a Legilimens to search my mind, whatever it takes."

"Good suggestions, but unfortunately they won't work."

"Why not?"

"It's noted in your Auror Academy file that you are an Occlumens. A _perfect_ Occlumens, no less."

Severus felt his heart sink. "Then search _his_ mind."

"Legilimency can be unreliable. We prefer to look at the evidence. Let's go through it again, from the top. How much did you have to drink tonight?"

"A few firewhiskys."

"A few?"

"Two."

"And were these two drinks spread out over the evening?"

"We arrived, I drank two right away."

"Did you make the drinks yourself?"

"No, there was a bowl."

"So, you don't know how much alcohol you actually drank."

"I guess not."

"Your bloodwork says you had the equivalent of four shots. Do you drink that much in one go, regularly?"

"No."

"How long after drinking did you go outside to smoke?"

"About a half hour."

"Would you say you felt drunk at that point?"

"I felt...good...relaxed, not seeing double or anything like that. Not blacking out and forgetting I attacked someone, if that's the implication."

"You were somewhat drunk, James Potter made comments you didn't like, and you don't remember what happened next, but the next thing you knew he was badly hurt. You recognised the spell you invented, and you were attempting to do the counter-spell when we arrived. That about it?"

"Yes."

The Auror flipped through Snape's file and frowned. "Your record at the Academy was outstanding. All except the psych eval. Did you ever follow up on why you failed?"

Severus shook his head. "I figured if I'm not cut out to be an Auror there's nothing I can do about it."

"It says 'delusions of persecution' here."

Snape blinked. He couldn't quite recall what he had he talked about during his psych interview. Could it be true that it really was all in his mind? That he'd finally snapped and attacked James, perhaps with intent to kill, based on a paranoid fixation and years of buried rage? Was there another personality inside of him that was fully aware of what he'd done? He knew he had a violent side. It had been there since childhood and had grown up with him. It was something he thought he'd learned to control.

Then again, James had taken great pleasure in cruelty, and it wasn't _inconceivable_ that this was all part of a long-term plan to destroy him. Yet, how could Snape hope to prove that? He rested his head in his hands. "Are they delusions, if he's finally won?"


	37. Chapter 37

I'm just a mawkish goth, what can I say?

* * *

Chapter 37

* * *

"Uh oh," said the Doctor, and instantly regretted it, because _uh oh_ wasn't something you wanted your companions to hear. Luckily, his only companion on the bridge of the TARDIS at the moment was M. M was looking at the same monitor as the Doctor. "The timeline is splitting. _Something_ happened in the wee hours of the morning, November 1, 1979," said the red-haired Time Lord.

"I thought as much. This timeline is too fragile now. We can't touch it anymore."

M bit his thumbnail nervously, "After you told Harry we were going straight home, he sent a message to Tom, saying he was sorry we couldn't say a proper goodbye due to circumstances, but that we'll see him in seventeen years. Well, Tom will see Harry in _eleven_ years, but you know, Harry won't know him yet. This divergence hasn't _changed_ that, has it? It hasn't distorted _our _timeline?"

"I don't think so. I'm _pretty sure_ we're intact, a clean separation from the off-shoot."

The Doctor's expression was grim. M rested a hand on his shoulder, and looked at the monitor again. "It looks good to me. I'm still having trouble seeing the way I used to, but the future we're moving toward appears stable."

The Doctor smiled weakly, and placed his hand on top of M's. "When they wake up, for better or worse, we bring them home."

* * *

"July 19, 1996, just before midnight. The first day of the rest of your life," said the Doctor.

"Feels more like the last day of the beginning of my life," said Harry.

The bespectacled young man paused for a moment in front of the door of the TARDIS, then threw it open and stepped forward.

The clearing was the same, the moonlight identical. Harry felt a rush of fear as he recalled in vivid detail what had happened that night, two years ago. "Harry," said a voice, not so dissimilar from the one he remembered, but when he turned towards the source he was greeted not by Voldemort, but Tom Marvolo Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore, the man he knew and loved and trusted.

Tom hugged him for a very long time. "It's been so strange, Harry, seeing you but you weren't _you_...I don't know how to explain it."

Harry pulled back and looked at his graying hair, at the wrinkles on his face, which were rather distinguished, he thought. Harry jolted when he saw a long, brutal scar that bisected Tom's lower lip down to his chin. Then a memory surfaced from nowhere, of a politically-motivated assassination attempt three years previous. He had read about it in the paper, as a thirteen-year-old. "Doctor, if things have changed...are changing...and the reasons for us going back in time don't exist anymore, then how does that work?"

"Is it important to know the details? You came to the forest tonight to meet Tom," said the Doctor, simply.

Everyone had filed out of the TARDIS: Hermione, Ashley, the Doctor and M. Tom hugged them each in turn. "Mum and Dad will be so happy to see you."

"Dumbledore's still Headmaster?" asked Harry.

"Of course."

Harry swallowed hard. "Have you seen my parents? Lily Evans and..."

"James? Yes, of course. Oh, I'm sorry I keep saying 'of course'. From your perspective this must be very disorienting. Your mother is the Charms and Chemistry instructor here at Hogwarts, Harry."

As soon as Tom said that, Harry remembered. He experienced an odd jolt, almost of pain or disappointment, followed immediately by a burst of excitement, like lightning striking his brain, and suddenly there bloomed memories that hadn't been there a minute ago. He remembered not remembering, he remembered the Dursleys just as they'd been, and simultaneously recalled a life with his parents. He recalled his room at the cottage at Godric's Hollow, bedecked with Quidditch posters and crammed with toys and books. He recollected it all with clarity, in full color and sound, right down to his earliest memory: sunlight shining through the fiery sheet of his mother's hair as she applied sunscreen to him at the beach. The cool sensation of her fingers on his skin, the gentle crashing of waves, the smell of the air, the feeling of comfort, of protection. Harry remembered other things: a moth circling the light outside the hall of his room, the door left ajar, the sound of his parents' arguing drifting up to him from the floor below. Harry remembered the sting when his father couldn't see him off on his first day to Hogwarts, called away by Auror's duties. Harry remembered walking into the kitchen and seeing his mother wipe her eyes hastily. Harry remembered wondering why his father stayed out so late night after night, and Harry remembered the moment he realised why. "They...they're divorced."

"Yes, they are."

Harry felt weak in the knees. Tom held him by the elbow. "They love you, Harry."

"I know. I know they do. I guess I thought...I don't know what I thought."

"Everything will be alright. Let's go inside."

The front hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry looked much the same, except for a large glass case in which were prominently displayed, side-by-side and intact, Helga Hufflepuff's cup, Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, Salazar Slytherin's locket, and the Sword of Godric Gryffindor.

They climbed many staircases to Dumbledore's office. Amy and Rory leapt up from their seats as they entered, staring at Tom Riddle. "Is that...oh _god_, it is...but, yeah...of course it's Professor Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore," stuttered Rory, brow scrunched in confusion. "N-not...Vol-_you-know-who_."

"Who's you-know-who?" asked Amy.

"It doesn't matter." He smiled in amazement. "_It doesn't matter_!"

Rory jumped for joy and let out a whoop. Amy's eyes widened. "How long were you gone?" she asked.

"Two years and eleven days," said Hermione.

"What?" shouted a voice behind them.

Hermione turned, saw Ron, and launched herself into his arms. "I missed you so much," she mumbled into his neck.

He pulled back and scrutinised her face. "You've been gone _two years_ in twenty minutes? But you look exactly the same!"

Hermione kissed him for that. She kissed him and kissed him and never wanted to stop, but eventually they needed air. "Let's get married," she said.

"Oh...kaaaay," he said, breathless and befuddled.

Harry looked around for Dumbledore, then recalled that he'd asked him to wait in the dungeons. His mind felt foggy. It probably had something to do with time travel and all the new and different memories, all the moments that were crowding in on him from every corner, then receding like a wave, then crashing back again. He thought of the calm of the beach in the deepest part of his mind, and steadied himself.

They found Dumbledore on the staircase leading up from the dungeons, flexing his right hand and examining it curiously. The skin was healthy. The curse was gone, and the memory of it was fading like a dream. "I believe this has been a rather eventful evening, Harry," said the Headmaster, smiling slightly.

Harry beamed for a moment, then his eyes filled with tears. "I've...I've got to go see my parents. I'd rather...go alone, if that's alright with everyone."

Hermione was crying, too. "Go, Harry."

"I'll come back, after. Or...I'll meet you at the Burrow tomorrow morning?"

"That's perfect, mate," said Ron.

"Thank you. All of you."

Words failing him, Harry turned on the spot and vanished. Hermione gasped. "I thought you couldn't Apparate within Hogwarts."

"We did away with that rule," said Dumbledore. "It wasn't safe. Now people can Apparate _out_, but not _in_."

"What do you mean, not _safe_?"

"In case of attack, you know."

Hermione remembered, and felt as if she were going to be sick.

Harry Apparated to his mother's house by instinct. Lily Potter lived on an estate not far from Hogwarts. When he saw the handsome stone cottage on the generous acreage, Harry recalled that she had received half of James Potter's assets in the divorce, and she enjoyed a quite comfortable lifestyle. The lights were on. He approached the door and knocked, his entire body trembling. A minute later, Lily opened the door and laughed. "Did you lose your key-"

Harry hugged her. "I love you."

"Love you, too. Everything alright?"

"Yes, I think so."

"It's after midnight. What's going on? Is junior Auror training going okay?"

_Right, that's what I've been doing all summer_, thought Harry. "Mmm-hmm. I'm gunna go see Dad."

Lily frowned. "It's late, Harry. Why don't you get some sleep here, and go see him tomorrow?"

"You know I have a better chance of catching him at odd hours. He's probably up in the Auror's Office with Sirius, going over that case for the millionth time," Harry said, the words sounding alien as they sprung from his mouth.

_The F.B.M. Killings_, he suddenly recalled from the papers and from conversations with his father and Sirius. _Female Brunette Muggleborns, being killed by someone who had eluded capture for the last twenty-three years. Nine bodies had been found, and many more women were missing and presumed dead. The case of the century, at least for the Wizarding World. One of the victims had even been a teacher at Hogwarts, murdered within the school grounds. How could he forget? Well, things had been different. There had been a war. _"There was no war."

"What, Harry?"

"Nothing. Sorry for acting so weird, I'm just tired. I'll see you soon."

"Text me when you get there."

"You mean owl you?"

"Oh, _no_! Did you lose your phone again?"

Harry felt in his pocket and pulled out a rectangular mobile phone. He stared at it in disbelief. "No, wait...oops. I have it."

The phone had a slightly purplish glow to it. As he watched, a tiny shower of silver sparks appeared in the upper right hand corner and a message appeared on the touchscreen next to an animated image of Ginny Weasley's smiling face: "Miss you, luv. Planning a wicked 16th birthday. jus u n me. :-) xxxxx". _Technology works around magic!_ screamed his mind. _No,_ _not 'around'...in tandem with. We have mobiles. We have the internet. We have technology that surpasses Muggle technology. Ginny loves me! _"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Lily.

"Yes, Mum. I'll text you as soon as I get to Dad."

He kissed her on the cheek and Apparated before she had any further objections.

Just as Harry expected, his father and Sirius Black were burning the midnight oil in their office. Harry could barely comprehend how they could stand to work on the same case year after year, but he knew his dad was nothing if not obsessive. They handled lots of other cases, too, and had a very high closure rate, but catching this particular killer was a sticking point for James. Maybe it _had_ started as an excuse to spend time away from his difficult marriage, and over the years had become something of a morbid fixation. "New angle: the killer is Severus Snape," said James, idly levitating a tennis ball with his wand.

"That's not funny, Prongs," said Sirius. "It's wrong to speak ill of the dead."

"Dead?" Harry asked from the doorway.

"_He-ey_, what are you doing here?" asked James, smiling at his son.

Harry didn't smile back. He wanted to run to his father and hug him, then do the same to Sirius, but he felt frozen to the spot. "Did you say Severus Snape is dead?"

The Aurors squinted at him in confusion. "You know who that is?" asked James.

He did and he didn't. He _knew_ there had been a person named Severus Snape, but he could not recall anyone ever mentioning him. He wasn't sure what to say, so he shrugged. James slammed a fist onto his desk and said, "Why can't she just keep her mouth _shut_?" he snarled.

"James," said Sirius in a warning tone.

"Well, she shouldn't be talking about stuff like that! What's the point of telling him about it? Harry, I'm not angry, okay. Just tell me what your mother told you about Snape."

"She didn't. Who is he?"

"See?" James gestured toward Harry, while looking at Sirius. "See how he's on her side?"

"I'm not on a _side_! She didn't tell me anything! I heard Tom, uh, Professor R.F.D. mention him to Dumbledore. I guess Snape was legendary at Potions?"

Harry hoped this made-up explanation would fly. James only seemed to get angrier. "The greasy little git was up to his eyes in the Dark Arts. It was obvious from the moment we met him."

"Was it, really?" asked Sirius dryly.

"You thought so then."

Sirius looked away. James smirked. "Listen, Harry, that guy was a freak and a loser, and he met with the end he deserved."

Harry choked down an awful feeling that was steadily rising up inside of him. "What happened?"

"He killed himself."

"O-oh. And...why would he do that? You think he's actually...connected to these murders?"

"No, that was just a joke. A _bad_ joke," said Sirius.

"I don't understand. Who was he to you? Just someone you knew from school?"

"Yeah," said James, and did not elaborate.

_Someone you tortured for fun_, he thought but couldn't say. He finally had his father back and he didn't want to think bad things about him, even if they were completely true. "Okay," he said simply. "I'm tired. I'm going home."

He turned and left. He was nearly out of the building when Sirius caught up with him. Harry got the hug he'd wanted earlier. "Listen, Harry...I don't want you asking someone and getting the wrong information, so here's what your dad left out. Your mother had been friends with Snape since they were kids. Your dad and Snape were enemies at Hogwarts, and they sort of fought over Lily, and Snape won, or rather, she chose him. They were together until a couple years after graduation. There was an incident...Snape hurt your dad really badly-"

"Don't tell me he used Cruciatus."

"No, he used a cutting curse, something he invented."

_That must be the same curse I saw in the vision...the one he used on M, back at Malfoy Manor. Sectum...something. _"Why'd he do it?"

"It's unclear. There was an argument. Alcohol was involved. He did a year in Azkaban for it, and when he got out he took his own life."

"What? How much worse can it get than Azkaban..."

"Not much worse than it was back then, back when they still used Dementors. They said you'd forget everything good that ever happened to you...but I think hope must survive on some deep subconscious level. I imagine he was able to endure because he thought Lily would be there when he was released. When he found out she was with your dad...it must've been unbearable."

"My mom started dating James while Snape was locked up?"

"She married him."

"And had me. She couldn't have been thinking clearly. I mean, it was obviously a mistake."

Harry felt tears threatening. Sirius placed a hand on each of his shoulders. "Your parents love you."

"I _know_ that, why do people keep telling me that? I'm okay with the fact that their relationship didn't work out. It happens all the time. I just...need to know the truth...and sometimes the truth...is really painful. So tell me the truth, Sirius...do _you_ think he met with the end he deserved?"

After a long moment's contemplation, Sirius shook his head. Harry asked, "Who did she love more?"

Sirius shook his head again; he couldn't or wouldn't say. It didn't matter. Harry already knew the answer.

* * *

The days passed, despite the feeling that there was a hole in his heart that bled and bled and bled. Harry imagined the blood slowly filling the spaces he inhabited, from floor to ceiling, dungeon to tower. He would've gladly floated in it, letting go of the world, except the world ceaselessly called to him and tugged at him with distractions and comforts.

He completed his junior Auror training, he spent time with family and friends, he courted Ginny with natural ease. He even studied with Hermione in preparation for their sixth year at Hogwarts. She was in raptures over the wealth of knowledge now available via the Wizarding World Wide Web. "This is all because of Tom and Saskia...do you realise that, Harry? Thanks to them uniting Muggle science with magic and being brave enough to _teach_ it, and founding graduate schools to train us to actually _use _our knowledge, we have a future open to us that I never imagined before. Someday, the Statute of Secrecy will no longer be necessary. We'll co-exist openly with Muggles. Working together, maybe we'll even go out into the stars. No, not maybe. We _will_."

Her eyes were sparkling and intense. Harry had never seen her so happy, so full of purpose. Everyone around him seemed radiant, just by virtue of being alive. The Wizarding World was not without its problems, of course, but that was to be expected. Pure-bloods were still trying to take over the Ministry, but were met with stern resistance from those who supported the new advancements in universal magical studies. Hermione was right: technology and freedom of information held more power than anyone had imagined.

Things were better than before in almost every way save one. Harry tried not to think about Snape, tried not to notice his absence. The man had always been a shadowy figure lurking around the periphery of Harry's life. He shouldn't have been so difficult to ignore. Yet, the bleeding refused to cease.

There was no grave to visit.

Harry went to Spinner's End, but the house had been sold long ago. Wearing his cloak of Invisibility, he peeked inside. It had been renovated, modernized. It revealed nothing about its former occupant.

Harry went to the dungeons of Hogwarts, to the rooms where Severus had resided and would never reside. It was full of a stranger's possessions, rather cluttered, and the stones were silent.

Harry went to the Potions classroom, where Snape had and had not taught. He sat in the same seat he'd occupied in his first year, and tried to feel the intensity of that glower, that bitterness projected onto him. He felt nothing except the same intangible loss. Tom stepped into the room. "Oh, Harry! What are you doing here?"

"I'm not really sure. What about you?"

"Getting ready for class. It starts tomorrow, you know."

Harry blinked. Wandering around in abstract mourning, he'd completely lost track of time. "I haven't bought any books or anything."

Tom opened a cabinet set into the wall, pulled out a textbook at random, and placed it on the desk in front of Harry. "Here's Potions, at least."

"Tom...um, I've been meaning to say good job on passing the anti-Dementor legislation. And everything else you've done."

"I'm sorry that I couldn't...do more."

"You did amazing. I'm proud of you."

Harry looked so very young to Tom, it was almost funny to hear him say a thing like that. Almost funny but not actually funny, because Tom had very badly needed to hear it. "I tried, Harry. I visited him in Azkaban as often as was allowed, and when his sentence was up I stayed with him for weeks, I got him all the help I could...but as soon as I left him alone..."

"It wasn't your fault. It's _okay_."

"Is it?"

"It has to be. The Doctor said there's no going back anymore. Anything else we do will cause the timeline to split off. It won't change anything for us."

"Oh. Oh...I had thought to ask."

"We have to move on," Harry said, but his heart wasn't in it. "I'll leave you to get ready."

He rose and made his way to the door. "Don't forget your book," said Tom, striding over to hand it to him.

Harry was on his way to the Gryffindor common room to see if Ron, Hermione, or Ginny were around, when the book slipped from his grasp and fell open on the floor. As he stooped to retrieve it, he noticed the pages were crammed with hand-written notes. His eyes lit upon the words, "_For enemies: Sectumsempra_."

He let out a sound of disbelief. He gingerly picked up the book and closed it, then held it against his chest. He went to the Astronomy tower, sat down, and proceeded to read every word, every scribble in every margin between the shabby, worn, black covers.

Everything was there: his brilliance, anger, and a secret sense of self-worth that made Harry's heart ache all the more keenly. Finding a journal would not have revealed as much, would not have been nearly as poignant. When he was done reading he closed it gently, pressing the small volume between his palms. He looked around the tower where Snape had and hadn't killed Dumbledore. It was too sad, just too sad to stay there any longer. He left the castle and walked to a particular spot near the Herbology greenhouses. He stretched out on the grass on his back, the book resting on his chest, and finally felt something. A sense of peace and calm, a photo of his mother in a black frame, full of letters, full of bittersweet love. Letting go of a black frame with lost love inside, a battered black book with a life inside, the remnants of a life. "I'm sorry it went this way," said Harry, tears seeping from the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry your life was so hard. I'm sorry it was so unfair. But you were loved. You _were_."

After a time, after the sky had grown dark, he sat up and held the book once more. He desperately wanted to keep it, but he knew it wouldn't be right. He dug a hole in the earth with his bare hands, dug until his fingers were trembling and his arms burned from the effort. He put the book in the hole and filled it in, handful by handful, wishing that somehow this task would never end, but it did. He didn't want to stand up, but he did. And as he walked away, even though it felt selfish he sighed in relief as invisible sutures began to lace their way through his heart.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

In the days leading up to their final departure, M couldn't sleep. He would lie in bed with his eyes closed, yet never lose consciousness. He would listen to the slow thrumming of the Doctor's hearts reverberating through the mattress above him (the Doctor really did love bunk beds, and claimed that the top was 'more fun'), a sound he usually found soothing. Sometimes he would lie there until the Doctor woke up again, sometimes he was so restless that he would rise from bed and wander the TARDIS, ultimately ending up on the bridge, in front of the monitors.

Space-time was very much like fabric, and stitching through it could cause snags. Even worse was ripping stitches out and trying again...it stressed the weft and warp, and the fabric could eventually fall apart, or rather, respond to the stress by rearranging itself into a more stable configuration. It would tear to relieve the tension, and the results were unpredictable. This was basic Time Lord knowledge.

M felt tense, pulled towards the point where the timeline split, and he had the feeling he was missing something. He brought the divergence up the display and pored over it for the thousandth time. It had definitely been triggered by a time-travel event. They had assumed it was caused by the multiple visits the TARDIS had been making, but those had stopped weeks before the split, when the Doctor had sensed that they were reaching the limit. So, if they hadn't triggered it, at least not directly, what had?

The TARDIS' analysis was inconclusive. M sighed. He sent out gentle psychic feelers to see if Tom was awake, and felt that he was. M could've initiated a two-way connection, but he preferred to speak in person. He left the TARDIS.

The TARDIS was still at Hogwarts, disguised as a tree near the lake, and it was nearly Christmas. The _goodbye_ from this universe had been drawn out so long, they'd decided to stay through the new year. By the time M made it to the castle, he was shivering from the cold; a sign of exhaustion since Time Lords were highly adaptable to extremes in temperature.

Tom was in his third-floor office, going over legal documents for the next meeting of the Wizengamot. He looked up when M shuffled in, and jolted in surprise. He rose from his desk and Transfigured a blanket in a second, throwing it around his friend's shoulders, taking in his pallor and the dark circles beneath his eyes. "You're not well."

"It's true," said M, grateful for the warm fabric enveloping him. "I keep thinking about November 1, 1979, when the timeline split. The night Snape attacked James. There has to be a connection."

"Maybe we went back and tried to fix it, but failed?"

M shook his head. "We didn't. We'd be able to see that. If you don't mind, would you give me your personal thoughts on the attack?"

Tom frowned, and absentmindedly scratched at the scar on his chin. "I don't want to upset anyone. Harry, especially. I mean, it's far too late for it to make a difference."

"Between you and me."

"Okay." Tom gestured for M to sit on the couch, and sat down next to him, then continued, "When I saw him in Azkaban, I looked into his mind with Legilimency. Now, Snape was certified as a perfect Occlumens, but I trained him and I knew his weak points, and once his sentence began what would've been the use of pretending, anyway? What I saw convinced me he didn't remember, and not because he was blackout drunk like they said. Drunken memories have a certain feeling and flavour to them, and leading right up to the attack he was _inebriated_, sure, but he wasn't blind drunk. James asked if everything was all right between him and Lily, and then time got lost and when it picked up, James was already hurt. I think Severus was Obliviated. I suggested this theory to Lily Evans, but she didn't believe it. She was already pregnant, and I think it would've destroyed her to think James was so awful. The evidence was strong against Severus...you couldn't blame her. She may have developed doubts later...she strikes me as haunted...but it might've been just too painful to consider."

"There were no witnesses," M said, thinking out loud. "It's a fixed point, so it can't be changed. There was a time event, but not the TARDIS..."

Tom gasped. "_Time-Turners_ aren't like the TARDIS! Time-Turners don't re-write time. Fixed points can't be _changed..._but can they be _witnessed?"_

"Yes, they can!"

"They keep them in the Ministry of Magic. Severus was training there to be an Auror, until the fall of 1977 when he was dismissed."

M leapt up and ran from the room. Tom followed him. Back in the TARDIS, M checked the records and finally found what he was looking for. "Ah, ha!"

Tom squinted at the Gallifreyan symbols on the screen. "What?"

"We made a habit out of visiting you once a year. But in 1977 I see two time signatures. One's the blue TARDIS, the other is Red, my TARDIS. I'm meant to go back there."

"Meant to?"

M nodded enthusiastically. "How do I explain. It's like a _beacon_. I might've never seen it...it was easy enough to miss...but we figured it out and now I have to go there."

"Will something terrible happen to the timeline if you don't?"

"Huh? Oh...no. It's just the right thing to do."

"Morally?"

M smiled. "Yes. We do our best to help."

"I don't understand. _Who _put the beacon there?"

"When I made the decision to look, the universe decided to put the beacon there for me to find. Past and future made an agreement in accordance with my will to act."

"Are you saying the universe itself has awareness? A consciousness?"

M shrugged. "You call it God, we call it the Untempered Schism. Nobody knows what it is. But over the years, I've learned to trust it. Don't drive yourself mad. There's only one _real_ question: are you coming along?"

Who could say no to a Time Lord? Especially when he was still cloaked in a pink, fuzzy blanket. "Yes, but...is there any danger? The Doctor said we couldn't touch the timeline anymore."

"Right, he said that because the timeline was in danger of splitting. And it _did _split. What he didn't know is that we set up the conditions for it to split by doing what we're about to do. We're not doing anything dramatic, mind you. Just some subtle suggestions."

"Won't we split along with it?"

"If we stick around until it happens, yeah, and I'm too curious not to. I've examined the alternate timeline. It's stable."

"But how will we get back from there without messing with _this_ timeline?"

"It's safe as long as we return to the _future_, not the past, relative to the point at which we depart. In other words, it's dangerous to do any more _re-writing_, but the future is still being written. Get it?"

Tom furrowed his brow, then threw his hands up. "I'll take your word for it."

M beamed. "You ready?"

"Don't you want to wait for the Doctor?"

"_Mmm_, no. I don't want him trying to stop me."

"But you said it's safe and stable and meant to be."

"Yeah, well...his opinion may differ."

Tom stared at him. M said, "Look, he's going to wake up really soon, so I have to go now, but if you want to stay-"

"No, I'm with you."

* * *

Lily Evans had been at the Ministry of Magic for five hours, and most of that time had been spent pacing the dim, silent, unfriendly waiting room. An Auror seated at a desk looked up at her every now and then. His gaze was cold and detached. He wasn't even vaguely interested in her troubles. She was just one of the thousands of people he'd seen pacing that room, but she was nicer than most to look at, even though her face bore traces of hastily rubbed-off Hallowe'en makeup and she was dressed as a deer, white spots and all. She would occasionally glare in his direction, and he'd turn back to his propaganda-laden newspaper.

A steel door in the wall finally opened, and another Auror gestured for Lily to follow into the hallway beyond. She was escorted to a room even starker than the waiting room, where Severus Snape sat, shoulders rounded and head hanging low. The door closed behind her and they were alone, though she was sure Aurors were listening in. She sat down across from him and took his hand. He looked up at her, and she saw his eyes were red. "Is James alright?" he asked.

"They got the bleeding under control and closed the wounds. Can you tell me what happened?"

He told her everything he'd told the Auror who'd interviewed him. "I can't explain it, Lily. I keep thinking he must've had another wand...or they're lying about it to protect him. They said they swept the property twice and didn't find anything."

She was silent. After a minute he couldn't take it any longer. He had to ask, "Do you think I did it?"

"I don't want to believe it. But it was _your_ curse. You have been...paranoid."

She felt him start to tremble. "What did he tell the Aurors?"

"He said there was an argument, and you snapped."

She left out the fact that James had grabbed her hand as they took him into surgery, and pleaded with her to be there when he woke up. She had stayed, and he'd said a lot more; he admitted to being envious of Severus and unable to stop himself from making hurtful comments. He blamed himself for what had happened. He said he'd been a git, got what he deserved, and that he wished Sirius hadn't called the Aurors, but didn't she finally see that Severus was dangerous, that the person who'd called her 'Mudblood' had never really changed, only gotten better at hiding. "You think I did it."

"I don't know."

His face was unreadable. "I don't know, either. I guess that's it. He's clean, I'm dirty, and it's over."

"What do you mean, it's over?"

"I might go to Azkaban. The evidence is clear to them. They don't spend a lot of time on cases like this, and we're about to hit the limit."

Suddenly she felt a little explosion go off in her mind, an electric feeling, as if her brain were being squeezed. "No, you can't go to Azkaban. We have plans. We're taking a holiday in Venice."

He stared at her blankly for a long moment, then there was a spark of understanding in his dark eyes. "The tickets are on top of the breakfront. Get a refund if you can, or go with Remus or Sirius."

"I'm sorry-"

"Please, just go."

Lily had read somewhere that a Time-Turner had a maximum range of six hours per day. She wasn't sure if that was true, but if it was it meant she only had twenty-five minutes to get back to the moment of the crime. As soon as she was away from the Ministry she Apparated back to St. Mungo's. She found Remus in the hall outside of James' room. "How is he?" she asked.

"Sleeping. The healer said the scarring may clear completely."

"That's good. Where's Sirius?"

"Getting food. Are you-"

"Apparate with me right now, to Spinner's End? It's really important, but we have to go _now_."

Remus nodded his head. They joined hands and moments later were standing on the street outside of Snape and Lily's place. She ran up to the door, fumbling with the keys. "What's going on?" asked Remus.

She threw the door open and bolted to the breakfront. Too short to reach the top, she stood on a chair. She found a small box, and inside it was a golden spherical object in which an hourglass was imbedded. "You know how to use a Time-Turner?" she asked, hopping down from the chair.

"Sirius took me on a tour of the Time Room...you spin the inner part once per hour you want to travel back."

"He showed you how?"

"Yeah," he said, blushing as he recalled long exquisite afternoons of 'lost time' he'd shared with Sirius.

"C'mon, to Godric's Hollow."

When they arrived, the sky was growing light and the street was hushed except for the sound of birds. The gate of James Potter's house was hanging open and the lawn was littered with plastic cups and an assortment of Hallowe'en decorations. _A wand could easily be hidden here_, thought Lily. _Don't get distracted. _

She found the spot where the incident had happened, and looked around for a place to hide that still afforded a clear view. She settled on a shrub to the left of the door. It was a little close for comfort, but there was nowhere else suitable. They ducked behind it, and just to be sure, she cast the Disillusionment charm on both of them. "Turn it back six hours. We need to see what happened," she said.

Remus' expression was anxious and more than a little sad, but he looped the long golden chain around them both and turned the inner wheel six times. Lily watched in awe as the stars whirled around them, the moon popped up into the sky, and sounds of revelry returned to the scene. She gave her eyes a minute to adjust, then peeked out from behind the shrub and saw Severus smoking a cigarette to her left. A moment later, James appeared from her right, and if she hadn't shrunk back against the wall he would've walked right into her.

Their conversation seemed normal enough until James brought up the psychological evaluation. When he called Severus unstable, Lily felt a rush of anger, partly at James and partly at herself for thinking the same thing on occasion. Despite years of therapy and a genuine willingness to heal, despite all his progress, Severus was still troubled and would likely never be free from certain demons. Lily had known he was difficult since they were children; it was something she fully accepted. She didn't mind a challenge, in fact, she would've been bored with someone with less depth. Every so often, however, his pain was so acute and so unknowable to her that she wasn't sure he could withstand the weight of it. There were places his mind went where hers could not imagine going, places he would never wish her to follow.

"You've always been _wrong_," said James, and Severus turned to face him.

"What did I do to make you hate me so much?" he asked calmly.

"You mean other than just existing?"

"If you really feel that way, why did you save me that night? Why not let Remus kill me?"

James shrugged. "I didn't want him to be expelled."

Snape stared at him in disbelief. "I don't understand how you can claim to empathise with Muggleborns, and be so intolerant."

"Funny hearing that from a pureblood supremacist. You may have fooled her-"

"I _was_ wrong! If you knew how deeply I regret it...if you could open your mind and let me show you, feel it for yourself...but you can't, can you? You're missing something, James, the part that hurts when you see others hurting. And maybe it takes one to know one, but _I'm not _who I was when I was fifteen. I can barely believe Lily cares for me _even a little_, but _she chose me_ and if _she_ believes I'm worthy, I believe her. People can change."

"No, they can't. You are who you are."

"Then you'll always be a bully. But I'm not as weak as I used to be."

"Prove it."

James drew his wand. Lily braced herself. Severus turned to enter the house. James whispered, "Imperio."

An all-pervading sensation of peace and calm washed over Severus. "Turn around. Take out your wand," said James. "Good. Think of a curse, something that will hurt me badly, but not kill me. Curse me, now."

"Sectumsempra," Snape said cheerily.

James gasped as deep cuts opened up across his face and chest. He was glad he had taken a painkilling potion beforehand. The amount of blood was rather shocking. He stumbled backwards and said, "S-stop. Close your eyes. _Obliviate_."

He sat down, and then added, "Finite incantatum."

In the moment it took Snape to come to his senses, in one smooth motion that had evidently been rehearsed in advance, James stuck the wand he'd been using into a crack between two of the stones in the foundation of his house. Then he started to scream.

Lily wanted to scream, too. Shaking with rage, she waited until a substantial crowd formed, then took Remus by the hand and walked around to the back of the house and cast _Muffliato_. "I can't believe it," said Remus.

"He said he still felt threatened and I didn't believe him. I've never been bullied...how would I know what it's like? We think it's something you just get over and move on from, but that's not true, is it? Not for the bullies or the victims. I should have _listened_, instead of trying to smooth things over. God, he has nightmares he won't talk about. He cries in his sleep, sweats through the sheets. And I thought it was _fine_ that we still hung out with James. I _encouraged_ it. He was scared, Remus, and probably scared to say how much it really bothered him, because I was always telling him he had _nothing to fear_."

She screamed once, very loudly. She took a long deep breath and said, "We know where James put the wand. We can get the Aurors to find it later."

"Lily, he could go to Azkaban for a long time for using _Imperius_. I know what he did was horrible...like watching a stranger-"

"Was it so _strange_? You stood by for _years_ while he bullied Sev."

Remus began to cry. He was glad he was invisible. "I know. I know I'm guilty, too."

"Why didn't he defend himself? Why'd he turn around like that and just let him..."

"He was trying to do the right thing."

"I don't care if James Potter rots in Azkaban."

"You don't mean that. Azkaban is hell. Nobody deserves to be there. Professor Riddle is so close to getting the Wizengamot to remove the Dementors, and I know you support that."

"Not right now I don't. I'm angrier than I've ever been in my entire life, Remus. I have half a mind to go to Mungo's and set his bed on fire."

"No, please. Let's just sit down and think. We have time to think."

Lily flopped down gracelessly on the grass. Remus sat down and rubbed his eyes. "_Why'd_ he do it?" she asked.

"Because he's a narcissistic control freak. He thinks he's better than everyone, and he can't stand feeling bad about himself. The fact that you're with Severus instead of him, the fact that Sirius and I are friends with Severus now...he can only see this as him losing and Severus winning and James doesn't know how to deal with feeling like a loser. He rants about him when you weren't around, until Sirius tells him to shut up, and then we just get on with whatever. I _swear_ I would've said or done something if I suspected he was capable of this."

"Does Sirius know how twisted he is?"

"Well, _yeah_. I mean, they used to gang up..." Remus trailed off, then tried again. "Sirius estimates that about half of the Aurors are sociopaths. You know our criminal justice system is frighteningly unregulated."

"Can we trust Sirius?"

"Yes!"

"He was willing to let Sev be bitten or killed by you."

"We were _idiots_. Stupid, _stupid children_. Back then, Sirius was swayed by James' popularity, but he has since _grown up_. You must've noticed how much he cares for Sev, how hard he's tried to earn his trust. He's always worried that there isn't enough he can do to make up for the past. Sirius would lay down his life for him, or you, or me."

"Or James?"

Remus sighed. "_Probably_, but Sirius wouldn't ignore the truth. And the truth is, James is messed up. _Merlin_, out of all the Marauders, Peter's the only vaguely normal one, and that's probably why we barely see him anymore. Sirius and I _manage_ James. We are _so glad_ that you're with Severus and not him."

He paused, then added sheepishly, "He _is_ good to you, right?"

"Like I'd be with someone who wasn't. He's intense, yeah, and can be insecure at times...and when he wakes up from those nightmares, so sad and unreachable...but he's so considerate, respectful, kind, patient...sometimes when I'm being annoying I almost wish he'd raise his voice a bit, but I _know_ he won't. He makes me feel safe, and loved for _exactly who I am_. He _listens_, he pays attention. He actually does have a sense of humor and he's more passionate and playful than anyone knows..._ah_, that's getting personal. But when he looks at me I know he's savouring every moment, like he can't believe his luck, like he thinks he might be dreaming. I just hope he knows that it's a dream for me, too. I hope he knows how much I appreciate him, all of him, including the stuff he thinks is ugly, his dark moods and unhappy past and singularly glorious nose."

"Well."

"Yeah, Remus, he's the love of my life. So, um, why didn't I know James was such a total monster?"

"He puts on a charming act for you. Once he figured out that you weren't impressed by his displays of dominance, he changed tack and began to act nice when you were around. But when you aren't around, well...the cruel streak hasn't gone, obviously."

"There's other women in the world. I wonder why he's so fixated on me."

"No offense, Lily, but it's really Sev he's fixated on. He considers you a precious thing that was taken from him by an inferior opponent."

"I'm not a _thing_!"

"'Course you're not. He's a creep."

"Why do you hang out with him?"

"'Cause _Sirius_ does and I love Sirius to pieces, you know that."

"What's Sirius's problem, then?"

"Stubbornness. Loyalty. He's a Gryffindor and a _dog_, Lily. A _dog_! He says he has to keep James from screwing things up at the Auror Office. James thinks he can just throw money at problems to make them go away, but someday that's not going to work."

She thought things over. "Why don't Aurors use Time-Turners?"

"That would make too much sense, and also get too complicated."

She let out a wry laugh. "So. If we don't want anyone to go to Azkaban, what do we do?"

"We've got to ask Sirius. He's the only one who James really respects, I think because Sirius is half-feral _and_ rich, a genuine rebel who doesn't give a shite about anyone's opinion."

"Um, Remus...you're worrying me."

"Sirius has a _conscience_. It wasn't apparent, or even _developed_, back when we were fifteen, but I _know_ him, Lily, and he's got a good heart. You remember how he apologised to Severus after you two started dating-"

"So did James!"

"Sirius _meant it_."

Lily recalled Severus saying that he trusted and liked Sirius and Remus. For Sev, that was a rave review; he wouldn't dare say a thing like that unless he was absolutely certain. Now that she thought about it, she was sure he must've used his Legilimency skills to confirm Sirius's intentions. "Okay, we'll go to Padfoot."

"This is going to sound weird, but do you mind if I sleep for a little while? We have a few hours until we catch up with ourselves."

"Sorry, I forgot the full moon is only two days away. You must be exhausted. Do you want to wait 'til the Aurors leave and sleep in the house?"

"Nah, it's okay. I'm just going to lie down right here, if that's alright."

Remus curled up on his side and almost instantly passed out. Lily couldn't see him since they were both still Disillusioned, but she heard his teeth chattering slightly, so she cast a Warming charm. "Poor Moony. You're a good friend."

She was too agitated to sleep. She listened to the Aurors conduct their fruitless search, and after a while the property grew quiet. She finally heard the quiet _crack_ of Remus and herself Apparating in front of the house. She shook Remus gently to wake him. He whimpered slightly as he sat up, and she winced in sympathy, wondering not for the first time what it felt like to be a werewolf. She helped him to his feet, and once they were sure that the versions of them on the front lawn had Time-Turned into the previous night, they rounded the house and pried the wand out of the crack in the foundation, carefully wrapping it in a silk handkerchief so as not to disturb any fingerprints.

They returned to St. Mungo's. Lily removed the Disillusionment spell and they resumed their vigil outside of James Potter's room. Sirius arrived a few minutes later with takeaway, and gave her a hug. "Have you seen Severus?"

"We've seen a lot."

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

* * *

A lot of subtle emotions were lost on James, but he recognised anger when he saw it. Of the three people glaring down at him in his hospital bed, Lily was the most furious, Remus a close second, and Sirius was smouldering but keeping it together. "We know what you did. We found it," Sirius said evenly.

"Found what?" mumbled James, feigning drowsiness.

His Auror partner held up a plastic bag containing the wand James had used. "The last spells were Imperius and a memory charm. Your prints are on it. What did you do, lift it from the evidence chamber?"

"It's in an evidence bag. Have you turned it in?"

"No, and I won't...as long as you tell the truth right now."

"I wanted to get rid of Snape."

He said it so matter-of-factly, Lily shuddered from the coldness. James didn't seem to notice or care. "You wanted to get rid of him," repeated Sirius. "As in, from our group of friends? Or sent to Azkaban?"

"Either way, same effect."

"You shouldn't do things like that to innocent-"

"Oh, he's not innocent-"

"James, listen. You shouldn't do things like that to innocent people. Because now _you _are in danger of going to Azkaban, don't you see? Things you do can have negative consequences for _you_."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Don't push me and don't underestimate me. None of us want you to go to Azkaban, but if you don't give us a choice..."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to change your story."

They engaged in a staring match. Sirius won. James let out an irritated, almost bored sigh. "Call the Aurors back."

* * *

"Pumpkins?" asked the Auror.

James nodded. "Yeah, pumpkins. He said he'd been working on some cool trick for carving pumpkins, and I asked him to show me. So, he did a few...they're on the lawn of my house...anyway, I was sitting kinda diagonal from him while he worked. He warned me not to get too close, but I didn't listen. I mean, he really seemed to have it under control, you know? Anyway, someone set off a firework. He flinched and the curse hit me. I was really angry, so I said he attacked me on purpose."

"You're an Auror. You knew he'd be facing very serious charges."

"I was _angry _and drunk. We were both drunk...apparently he was way drunker than I realised. It was partly my fault for getting too close when he warned me not to. I guess I was ashamed to admit it was a stupid accident."

"You want to drop the assault charge?"

James nodded. The Auror made some notes, and continued, "Both of you said you were arguing. You wanna change that part, too?"

"No, we _were_ arguing a bit before. I was teasing him about failing his psych eval, and I said his girlfriend deserved better. I've teased him since were kids at Hogwarts, and he's never reacted with violence. My sense of humor can be really mean sometimes, and he knows that...he doesn't take it seriously. Not seriously enough to attack me, anyway."

The Auror nodded once. This corroborated what Severus had said in his interview about he and James never getting along, but that James' comments would not have driven him to assault. "Okay. So. You teased him and he replied to that how?"

"He said Lily's been with him for two years since he failed his psych eval, so obviously she doesn't care. That ended the argument. I felt kinda bad for teasing him so I asked if he'd been working on any new spells lately. He's great at that. He invented _Muffliato_, you know?"

"And this is when the pumpkin carving started?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Mr. Potter, in future I hope you'll be more responsible. Don't encourage potentially deadly party tricks."

"I understand. What will happen to Snape?"

"The charge will be dropped to reckless conduct. He'll have his wand confiscated for a year."

"Will he go to Azkaban?"

"No, he'll be released today."

James sighed. It came off as one of relief. After the Auror left, Sirius, Remus, and Lily entered the room. "How was that?" asked James, adjusting his glasses.

"Just fine," said Sirius.

"Will you destroy that wand now?"

Sirius shook his head. "I can't. I need some assurance you won't try this again, so I've hidden so you'll never find it, even if you use Legilimency or Veritiserum, so don't bother looking. There's no need for you to be concerned, as long as you don't try anything."

"You're blackmailing me."

"Into being a decent person, yes."

James sulked. Lily waited for a while, not really expecting an apology but hoping for one nonetheless. When she accepted that it wasn't going to happen, she turned to leave. "I would've been good to you," called James.

She wanted to whirl on him and scream, '_the only way you can be good to me is if I never see you again!' _but instead she ignored him and just kept walking away.

* * *

That evening, happily back at Spinner's End with Severus, in each other's arms and almost asleep, something occurred to Lily. "That wasn't like you."

"Hmm?"

"You said you stole the Time-Turner from the Ministry."

"I did."

"You're not a thief. You aren't in the secret habit of stealing things, are you?"

"No."

"You have a very strong sense of right and wrong, and you know stealing is wrong."

"True."

"So? Why'd you do it?"

The day he'd stolen the Time-Turner had been odd, to say the least. Recounting it now, after all of the drama of the last twenty-four hours, didn't appeal to him, but Lily was looking at him plaintively. "They informed me that I'd failed the evaluation, gave their condolences and kindly asked me to gather my belongings from the training office. I was afraid they'd escort me from the building, but it wasn't like that. They let me leave at my leisure. For some reason I was drawn towards the Time Room. It's hard to explain...this is going to sound weird, but I got this electric feeling in my brain, and it was like...well...it was like a voice was telling me to go to the Time Room. So, I did, and then the voice told me to take one of the Time-Turners. I knew it was risky and wrong, so I tried to walk away...but the voice insisted that I take one. He —it was a man's voice— said it was okay to take it, that I would need it very badly someday. He said take it and don't worry. Just take it...then forget about it. So, I did, and I came home and hid it on top of the breakfront, and frankly I did forget about it. I chalked the whole thing up to stress, but then a few weeks ago when we were arguing about James..._zap_, that feeling was back and the voice said, '_mention the Time-Turner to Lily_.'

"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?"

"I'd just failed that bloody psychological evaluation, and one minute later I'm hearing voices in my head, and worse than that, _obeying_ them."

"You could've told me. I swear I felt the same thing when I came to see you at the Ministry today."

"What?"

"I felt something electric, then this voice said '_use the Time-Turner_.'"

"You're joking."

"No, I'm not!"

Severus put a hand to his forehead. "If not for the Time-Turner, I would've gone to Azkaban for sure. Someone helped us."

"Maybe it was just our instincts. Maybe we're Seers and don't know it."

"Maybe."

"I don't believe in prophecies."

"Me neither."

"Can we just say it was a guardian angel and get on with our lives?"

"Gladly."

They both stared at the ceiling. "Thank you, whoever you are!" Lily shouted suddenly, with the nervous excitement of a child.

"Thanks, we'll never forget you!" cried Severus, and pulled the sheets over both of their heads.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

M was dancing circles in the snow around his red TARDIS. Tom was looking at him funny, but he didn't care. Both timelines were humming along nicely, and M felt good about what they'd accomplished. The Doctor would wake up in a few minutes. Would he be angry? Proud? M was only eleven, after all.

Would he receive a Hogwarts letter?

"Just one more question," said Tom.

M paused his jig and chuckled. "Uh huh?"

"When they spun the Time-Turner the universe split into two parallel timelines. I get that. But what I don't get is if everything went the same up to that point, with us helping them along, what went wrong in _our _timeline?"

M's smile fell. "I don't know. We'd have to ask someone who was there...Lily or Remus."

"Remus. I'll call him, see if he's free to meet."

"You two are close?"

"You could say. When he was a student, my dad had the bright idea of having him endure his werewolf transformations in this house in Hogsmeade that became known as the Shrieking Shack. I found out about it after Snape was nearly killed by Lupin one night. I commissioned some Wolfsbane potion from a Potions master I know in Sweden, we gave Remus access to a private room in the castle, and never had another problem. When that Potions master passed away, Snape himself took over making the Wolfsbane. Right before he killed himself, he made a concentrated version, the equivalent of ten thousand individual doses. He would've won an award for that. It was a major breakthrough. Anyway...he left it labelled with specific instructions. If Remus lives to be one hundred and fifty, he still won't run out."

Tom dialed his mobile. Remus told them to come by. He shared a large flat with Sirius. It was a little ostentatious for Lupin's humble taste, but he didn't mind certain comforts. They met in the study he used for his counseling sessions with werewolves. Tom introduced M as Michael, and Remus offered them chocolate. "We're trying to understand what happened that night, for Harry's sake," said Tom.

"For Harry...yes, Sirius told me he was asking about Severus earlier this year."

"Did you ever doubt Snape's guilt?"

"I didn't want to believe it, but...considering the evidence..."

"Did you attempt to gather any evidence?" asked M.

Remus eyed him suspiciously. Tom said, "Don't worry. Anything you tell us is just for personal satisfaction."

Remus took a deep breath and ate another piece of chocolate. "That night, while I was waiting to see how James would recover, Lily came to me and asked for help. She had a stolen Time-Turner, and we went to James' place to see if we could witness what had happened. We needed to turn it six times, six hours. The first five turns went fine, but on the sixth the Time-Turner...stuck. I forced it, and it broke. Just fell apart into pieces. We didn't get to see what happened. We were too late. Lily was inconsolable. Ultimately, we had no choice but to accept the evidence."

Remus ate another piece of chocolate. It wasn't helping to calm him down at that moment. He added, "I still don't understand it. I'd used a Time-Turner loads of times before."

"Time doesn't like to be forced. Sometimes it does weird things to prevent worse things," said M.

Remus frowned. "I'm sorry...but who are you, exactly?"

"A time scientist, and a close friend of the Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore family."

"He's family," corrected Tom. "Thank you for telling us about the Time-Turner. Harry was having a hard time with the idea that his mother just gave up on Severus and starting dating James. The fact that she tried to get to the truth will mean a lot to him."

"It might mean more coming from her. I think she still feels like she betrayed Sev...but if you'd seen her then...she wasn't herself, and James took advantage of that."

"It's been such a long time. Maybe it's best to respect her silence about it."

Remus nodded sadly. "Well...I hope I've been helpful, at least."

"Very much. Have a Happy Christmas."

"You, too."

Tom Apparated them back to Hogwarts. M shuffled around in the trail of footprints he'd made earlier. "Now we know. In this universe, the Time-Turner broke. In the parallel universe, it worked."

"He was innocent, and nobody here knows. If we tell them, will it just hurt them more?"

"The people who really knew him and loved him all seem to know the truth already, even if they don't want to admit it. That'll have to be good enough, because I'm sure James destroyed that wand ages ago. He got what he wanted, and it still didn't work out the way he'd hoped. I guess that's a kind of justice."

They shared a moment of silence, staring up into the clear night sky, awash in stars. M continued, "On the bright side, there's a place where he's alive. Maybe nobody ever really dies."

* * *

Christmas was broken up into a succession of meals. On Christmas Eve, Harry had dinner with his mother, Remus, and Sirius. Then he went to his dad's flat where they ate together, just the two of them. The next morning there was a gauntlet of present-opening at both locations, then Harry dined at the London mansion with Albus and Arabella Riddle-Figg-Dumbledore, Tom and Saskia, Ariana and Ara Malacrea (Saskia and Tom's daughters, now thirty-one and twenty-nine, respectively), Hermione, Ashley, the Time Lords, Fawkes, and an assortment of cats and Kneazles. After that, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Rory, Amy, the Doctor and M met at the Burrow for the final feast. The Doctor received a sweater from Molly Weasley, emblazoned with a huge 'D'. M got the same classic gift, and so did Amy.

After dinner, Harry went outside and walked far from the house. He took out the rolled-up scroll, his long and harrowing account of the events they'd averted. He put it down in the snow and used his wand to set it on fire. When he turned to go back to the house, M was standing there. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"It's alright."

M hesitated for an instant, then went ahead. "There's something I think you ought to know. Your mum tried to use a Time-Turner to see the truth about what happened that night with Snape. In this universe, she was too late. But another timeline split off, Harry. I saw it, and in it, things are different. We'll never know exactly what happened in this timeline, but in the other one Snape was innocent and he didn't go to Azkaban. He's alive, he's with your mum, and they're happy."

Harry's eyes were glistening. "R-really?"

M nodded. Harry hugged him. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," he said, and a moment later he yawned, finally, finally feeling sleepy.


End file.
